


Confessions of A Queen Bee

by Grimmalkerie



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bee Miraculous, Child Neglect, Eventual Romance, Gen, I just wanted something chloe centric, I know he doesn't deserve it, Light Angst, Mild Language, Pining, Redemption, Slow Build, This has probably already been done, Working title, implied ladynoir, ish, it's all Chloe I swear, just straight up pining for so many people, mostly salt, not mutual, probably, straight is sort of a misdemeanor, there is nothing straight about this pining, there's some chat hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 69,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmalkerie/pseuds/Grimmalkerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like most things in Chloe's short privileged life, power had come nice and neat, wrapped in a miraculous bow and placed in her lap. Such a shame that its price couldn't be swiped away with a credit card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silver Has Always Been Last Year’s Gold

* * *

 

_I think you always knew you weren't wanted. From the second you tore out of me you were wailing and you haven't stopped since. As if you wanted to make sure you wouldn't be forgotten._

_Please._

_As if anyone could ever forget a brat like you._

* * *

 

If being old was a crime, Chloé Bourgeois would have him arrested.

 

He's absolutely ancient with flabby arm skin and balding hair, and walking slow enough to make even a turtle impatient. (Like wow, we get it. You're gonna die soon.) The man's short too, barely four foot tall standing straight but he's hunched over so low he might as well be kissing the floor. And ugh! That shirt with those shorts? Hasn't he realized Hawaiian button ups were dead before he was even born?

 

Stereotypical tourist attire. People like that shouldn't even be allowed to dress themselves.

 

He looks like a troll, she thinks, and smirks. Gross, old and wrinkly. God she's clever. Maybe she'll tell him. Even a wrinkly old prune like him deserves to know too.

 

The man pushes ahead, somehow managing to climb the steps to her daddy's palace without breaking a hip. He pauses up ahead, and shoots her a narrowed eyed grin- his way of telling her to suck it probably. It widens when her nose wrinkles in disgust. Like he's laughing at her.

 

Whatever.

 

She has places to be. She shouldn't put up with some walking corpse's bullshit.

 

Without a second to lose, Chloé sticks her nose in the air and pushes past him, watching him stumble with satisfaction out of the corner of her eye. The cane is flung out of his hands, and tumbles down the steps. His arms flail a little for a second, before catching on to the first piece of support he can find: her purse.

 

Chloé's nose wrinkles in disgust and she tries to push him away, but the old man's determined not to fall and he's surprisingly strong for someone so frail. With one fluid motion he hoists himself up and, not so coincidentally she's certain, pushes her down. Before she realizes she's lost, she -and her new designer handbag- are sent skidding. He turns to her, his face the epitome of innocence, and hobbles down the steps.

 

"My mistake." He croaks. He bends down and starts to pick up the contents of her purse. Hands it to her.

 

Chloé stares at him and then her bag, blood boiling beneath her skin. With a huff, she snatches it up and stands. She can do without his fake old man pity. He's about as sincere as day old caviar.

"Do you even _know_ who I am?" She says, crossing her arms. She expects him to hesitate after that-they always do-but instead his smile widens. Wolf in sheep's hawaiian shirt, she thinks, then mentally applauds herself. That's twice today. She should get an award.

 

"Of Course." He says. _Crooning._  "I've heard a lot about you, Miss Bourgeois.

Maybe it's the way he says it, or the glint in his eye, or that slimy little smile, but something about that sentence sends her speechless. It wasn't a compliment, that's for sure. She has every intention to set him straight, and knock some respect into his balding skull, but she blinks and he's gone.

 

All that's left is that walking stick, still abandoned by the side of the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes three shopping sprees, a haircut, and thirty-two selfies to even begin to forget the old man from earlier and even then she can't completely wipe his smug expression from her head. It seeps into her dreams too, until she's tossing and turning, gripping her pillow and pacing into the odd hours of the night.

 

She can’t remember falling asleep. She just knows it wasn’t pleasant.

 

* * *

 

It's noon when Chloé finally wakes up.

 

She thinks it's a Saturday at first. Her head is still terribly fuzzy and it's a little too bright to be morning, and besides- there's no one here to tell her other wise.

 

She probably wouldn't listen anyways. She's rich enough there's not really any point in even going to school.

 

The only reason she even bothers is to see Adrien. Oh-and maybe be served hand and foot by Sabrina. That’s always been a bonus.

 

For a second, she rolls over and considers going back to sleep, (She's never really been much of a morning person. Anything before 10 is a miracle at most. Besides. She's pretty sure now it's a Monday and she's missed half of class. There's no use showing up now.) But her phone is buzz, buzz, buzzing up a storm and sleep be damned if she's missing this.

 

No Ladybug fan in her right mind would.

 

There are three things Chloé will never admit out loud. The first concerns a certain Adrien Agreste. The second is about spandex. And the third?

 

Well. Like she'd ever allow Alya the satisfaction of knowing that her blog was _this_ good.

 

She runs over to her vanity, and dumps her purses contents onto the bed, pushing aside

emergency tubes of lipstick, and a certain little black box that was SO not there before until she finally manages to find her phone.

 

One typed password later, and _Queen_B33_ is logged in.

 

The first thing that pops up on the screen is a livestream and she wastes no time pulling it up onto her television. She takes great satisfaction in watching it slide down. Not everyone gets the luxury of being this close to Ladybug without actually having to be the one needing to be rescued in the first place. Not everyone has the cash to be real Ladybug fan. Not like her anyways.

 

_The camera's super shaky, but it's zoomed in on Ladybug swinging through the air and the quality's good so she won't complain too much. There's shouting too, a little bit Chat Noir who she wishes would speak up, and a lot Alya who she wishes would not. She can't really tell who they're fighting, (it all goes sort of grainy here. Not even Chloé's state-of-the-art widescreen could fix this disaster of a camera.) but she thinks it's a librarian? Or like a book monster? Whatever. It involves paper and she knows for a fact that Ladybug will defeat it in seconds._

 

It makes her think of the black box though. And maybe a little bit of the old man from yesterday.

 

_Now the screen's shifted to sneakers as Alya sprints to keep up. It flashes back to sky soon though. Alya might be huge pain in the neck, but she knows what she's doing._

 

Has she's ever actually seen it before?

 

_The camera's zooming in, as Ladybug leaps to the side, somehow managing to avoid the swarms of clawed books all flapping their way towards her. She's charging straight for the Akuma, a small framed women with exaggerated glasses covering most of her face, and a bright red and teal bodysuit. (The result is both fashion genius and mistake. Like something out of an American 80's film.)_

 

She just can't shake it…

 

The Akuma's releasing a scream, and all of the books fly towards Ladybug and Chat Noir at once.

Maybe it's something about the design…

 

_They're both weaving back and forth. Dodging. Like streaks of black and red._

 

She should open it.

 

She should open it now.

 

 **_Cataclysm!_ ** _Cat Noir slices the roof of the building. All three of them tumble._

 

Fumbling fingers. The lid pops open with ease. She can't really help it. Chloé's never been one to resist temptation. Not with everything she could ever want at the snap of her fingers.

 

_A flash of red. She’s not even paying attention anymore_

 

She doesn't notice anything at first- or at least nothing special. The glint of dulled silver. A hair comb.

 

Then- a burst of yellow light. Something small. A squeaky voice.

 

"Promise me you won't scream alright?"

 

Whoops. Too late for that.

 


	2. With Very Little Responsibility Comes A Whole Lot of Power.  (Or something like that)

 

* * *

_ I took a gap year before attending college to travel across Europe. _

 

_ I told myself, it would be perfect, that I'd study with the masters, and live off of finger sandwiches and  coffee.  _

_ I was young and naive and all I had was a handful of franks and a backpack full of sketchbooks. Everything you needed for an adventure.  _

 

_ And for a while it was. _

* * *

 

 

The thing in front of her is almost grotesque- with its bulbous yellow head and impossibly small  body, floating in front of her like the lovechild of a little kids fever dream and a bumblebee. If it didn't seem so strange she'd consider it almost cute- in an ugly sort of way that is.

 

Chloé screams again. She steps back a few steps, and tries to grab around for her phone. There's no way she's looking away. There's no telling what this creature will do to her.

 

The things sickly sweet smile drops and its eyes pop open.

 

"I asked you to stop! I really hate it when they- Oh." It says. Almost disappointed she'd think if she didn't find the idea so ridiculous. "Whose brilliant idea was to give you a miraculous?"

 

Chloé stops screaming. Stares. She's almost grinning now. "Miraculous?" She asks. _ Isn’t that what Ladybug has? _

 

The thing crosses its arms. "I'm not telling you anything. Nothing I don't have too anyways."

 

"Tell me or I scream."

 

There's a pause.

 

"You wouldn't."

 

Chloé inhales dramatically. "Daddy! There's something in my bedroom!"

 

"Fine! Fine!" Says the thing, it's little wings working furiously to keep it from falling. "But stop shouting."

 

Bingo.

 

"False alarm, Daddy!" She says, and the thing slumps back. Sighing. "Now what's this about a miraculous? And how much is it worth?"

 

The thing- sorry the kwami tells her that although the comb is made of a small handful of very precious and very expensive material, its value comes from the power it brings rather than how much it's worth materialistically. (Chloé laughs a little at this. It sounds like the type of bull shit that poor people like Sabrina's parents tell their children to make them feel better about the fact that their lives are worthless.) Apparently, Zeezle explains, a miraculous isn't something you buy, but something you're chosen for.

 

Because you're special.

 

This is where Chloé perks up a little bit. Not because of the whole _ ‘chosen' _ spiel. She's always sort of just known she was better than everyone else. She just never figured she was on the same level as Ladybug.

 

Zeezle then goes on and on about good and evil, and power and responsibility and disastrous consequences, but it's all sorts of unappealing and she can't help but zone out a little. (If being a superheroine means following a lot of rules, maybe it's not something she's cut out for. No wonder Ladybug never has time for her- she's too exhausted from listening to her kwami talk.)

 

"I don't care about that." She says. "I want to hear about Ladybug! And I want to know what my powers are!"

 

Zeezle massages her temples. "I'm getting to that! You are all so reckless. I know your lives are so short but it won't kill you if you slowed down to think a little! There's more at stake that appealing to your personal hero."

 

Please. As if Ladybug is just an obsession.

 

"Whatever." She scoffs, and examines her nails. Flawless. Just like her. "When do I like, actually get to save the world and stuff?" 

 

"You weren't even listening?" Zeezle squeaks indignantly.

 

As if. She's never cared much what other people have to say and she's not starting now. Certainly not from this rat with wings.

 

Chloé walks over to the miraculous and picks it up, running her fingers over the edge. Then she puts it on. It's still silver and it's still dull, but it pulls and twists her hair back in a way that a mere band could not. Besides. She can make anything look good.

 

Zeezle flies over nervously. "You aren't listening... why aren't you listening?"

 

"Hey." She says. "How do I activate this?"

 

"You'd know if you'd listen." The kwami grumbles, but flies over next to me. "All you have to do is say,  _ 'Transform me'. _ It's not that easy to-"

 

**_"Transform me!"_ **

 

The kwami squeaks, and her eyes bulge. "But I'm not done- "

 

Whoops.

 

There's a flash of yellow and Zeezle's sucked into the comb with barely enough time to complain. The light wraps around her body, covering her neck to toe in black and gold. It's done in seconds. She barely has enough time to keep from stumbling.

 

Chloé doesn't wait a second before rushing over to a mirror.

 

Her daddy paid hundreds of dollars to give her a custom-tailored Ladybug costume. But it pales in comparison to the real deal.

 

Her suit is jet black and fits like a second skin, a pair of thick yellow bands wrapping around her chest and waist. It ends at her boots (heels high and thin enough to kill a man. It’s nice to know she’ll look super cute when she’s running around and leaping off of tall buildings) and gloves. Strapped to her hips is a blow dart and ammunition. (Only five bullets? She thinks, then smirks. As if she'd need more than that. She's perfect.) Even the comb's gotten an upgrade- pure gold with a bee in the center.

 

The whole thing is terribly satisfying to look at, and for at least ten minutes Chloé poses around in the mirror, checking out all the possible angles. Her smile widens.

 

Pretty much only one thing to do now.

 

She swings out her window and onto the ledge, carefully balancing her feet so she doesn't fall. Then, gripping the bricks with a strength she never knew she had, starts climbing up.

 

She's doing everything in her power to ignore the stories of stone and concrete stories below her. Ladybug and Chat Noir make this look so easy.

 

_ There's no need to worry.  _ She says to herself.  _ You have superpowers- remember? You can probably fly. _

 

Besides. She's Chloé Bourgois. She can do anything she sets her mind to- and look drop dead gorgeous while doing it.

 

Even if that means falling to her death.

 

Half an eternity later she's reached the roof, and she's staring over Paris and she's grinning ear to ear because despite the fact she's seen just about everything money has to offer in Paris, the skyline from up here is absolutely stunning.

 

The perfect place to make her debut.

 

Chloé whips out her trusty smartphone and sets it down on the railing, angeling the camera just right. Then she sets the timer. Half a dozen blurry selfies later and Queen Bee's posted onto the Ladyblog's forums. If that won't get Ladybug's attention, Chloé doesn't know what will.

Zeezle's fuming when she finds out- ripping herself from Chloé's miraculous the second she slips through the window and launching into a ten minute tirade about responsibility and secret identities. Afterwards she collapses onto Chloé’s vanity. 

 

“This is about the time you feed me.” She says- or at least Chloé think she does. She isn’t really paying attention. Why should she? She’s about to go viral.

 

She tosses Zezzle a pamphlet and tells her to order what she wants. Then goes back to checking her statuses. It takes all her self control not to forward the pics to Sabrina. No. She thinks. She’ll have to wait like anyone else. If she’s going to make her debut she needs to do it right.

 

By the time she goes to bed there are at least fifteen new threads discussing Paris's new vigilante and only half of them are calling her a hoax. She smiles a little, and sets down her phone.

 

A girl could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really gross chapter with a whole lot of filler. I'm very sorry. I need to settle a few more things before we get into the fun stuff.


	3. Never Really Been Fond of Cliffhangers. (Especially the Akuma kind)

* * *

 

_I was young and travelling abroad, and he was charming and Parisian._

 

_Your father was a much more handsome young man back then. Work has aged him like cheap wine, and pleasure has made him slow minded and dull. But back then, he was quite the stud._

 

_You wouldn’t understand anyways. You’ll never get what it’s like to love someone._

 

* * *

 Chloé gets her chance to shine the next day.

 

She can tell waking up that it's time. She can feel it in her bones, and her gut, and the way the sunlight hits her miraculous just enough to glint. She can tell by the snippets of conversation as she walks through hall, and the heads bent over phones, and the comments flooding the Ladyblog. Record levels. She thinks. Alya's dumb little project has never been this popular. Chloé's certain of it.

 

Everyone's buzzing. Everyone wants to know.

 

Everyone wants more. Of her.

 

And if that isn't enough to make a girl smile, Chloé doesn't know what can.

 

She walks into Mlle Bustier's with her nose in the air, and a chat noir grin, making sure to take her sweet time soaking it all in.

 

Already on her desk is yesterday's homework and Chloé makes a mental reminder to give Sabrina a new pair of earrings. God knows the girl needs it. Loyal as she is, fashion has never been Sabrina's strong suite. And that dumb vest hurts more than it helps.

She doesn't bother flipping through it. Sabrina's always been sure to give top marks, and aside from Queen Bee, there's nothing about today that'll go any different. She'd bet her newest pair of heels on it.

 

"I like your new comb." Speak of the devil. "Can I try it on?"

 

Chloé doesn't even skip a beat. "Of course not. It'll clash." _It's also worth more than what your daddy will make in his insignificant lifetime._ But she's not going to say that outloud.

 

"Oh please! Just for a second?" Sabrina says, her face lighting up like the Eiffel Tower on New Years. "It just looks so good on you and I want to try it out for myself!"

 

She hesitates. Something about the way she said it sends shivers down her spine. It's all too sweet, like American candy or Chlo’s own _charming_ personality. No one sounds that innocent. No one but her anyways.

 

 _She loves you._ Chloé thinks. And then, _She's nothing without you._

 

That last thought is more than enough to make her grin. She's never questioned Sabrina's loyalty. Why now?

 

"I said no. But if you hold my bags the next time I go shopping, maybe I'll pick you up one half as nice as mine."

 

"Ohhhh really! Thank you so much, Chloé!" Sabrina says, and sits down, grinning ear to ear. It's almost satisfying.

 

Almost.

 

Still, she's thankful when Mlle Bustier walks in, and even more grateful when she tells them to open up their copies of The Little Prince.

 

She's even more grateful for the Akuma.

 

First there's silence. Not a pause, really, but actual silence. The kind that makes your thoughts pound in your head. The kind where you can't even hear your own heart beating away in your chest.

 

Then the color leaches from the room, and the world turns black and white.

 

For a second, Chloé just stands there. Unable to scream. Unable to move. Then the music comes. The kind that's in those old movies. Saxophones and mysteries and brooding men with fedoras. The type of thing you watch when you don't have cable. When you're poor.

 

Like Marinette. Who's mysteriously vanished.

 

(So has Adrien, and it occurs to her that that bread-loving hussy's gone and seduced him. But then she realizes more accurately that if she really is the akuma, she's probably gone and kidnapped him. She would. Just like her to be so selfish.)

 

Whatever. Now's her chance.

 

Chloé runs out of the room, and into the hall, digging through her purse. Meanwhile the music is getting louder and louder.

 

She finally finds Zeezle and shakes her awake.

 

"How rude." She says. Her voice has a strange, tinny tone to it. Like the old-timey recordings her teachers would show her in class. She'd always hated those. They seemed so irrelevant.

 

"Please." Says Chloé. "Everyone adores me. Get over it."

 

The kwami huffs, but then Chloé shouts **_'Transform me'_ ** and she has no choice but to be sucked into the miraculous.

 

The transformations over in seconds. It hadn't been as impressive as the last time however. Not having color and a shitty music backdrop must not help much. She wishes the Akuma had more taste than this. Maybe something like XY. Or even Jagged Stone. Something Chloé can dance too.

 

 _This has to be the worst Akuma ever_ . She thinks. _Everything's so grainy and it's hard to see._

 

How is Ladybug suppose to recognize her if all she sees is blobs of grey? How was she supposed to appreciate Queen Bee's golden locks, and completely-on-point eyeshadow- huh?

 

Why were people this caught up in their own petty problems? Didn't they realize how inconveniencing their little tantrums are?

 

* * *

 

She finds Chat Noir before she finds Ladybug, but they notice each other before they notice her. And even then, the music drowns out most of her squealing so she can't really get too mad. It makes it more of a surprise when she runs up behind Ladybug and gives her a surprise hug.

 

Ladybug acks, and shoves her off. "Do you mind? We're trying to-" She starts, but then pauses frowning. Then pulls her head back and groans. "Is Hawkmoth really that that arrogant to think we'll fall for that again?"

 

Chloé's smile falters a little. "You don't recognize me?" She squeaks. She's not wearing a mask. And a skin tight suit doesn't really hide much but the naughty stuff.

 

"Should I?" Ladybug says. Then she sighs and sticks her hand on Chloé's shoulder, and gives a thin smile. "You can't just stick on a suit and be a superhero. It takes responsibility. And powers."

 

This is so embarrassing. Her face is going red just thinking about it. "I- I have superpowers." She says.

 

"Whatever he promised you, it's not worth it. Now tell me where the akuma is and I can help you." Her eyes are so wide… so genuine…  the kind a girl can get lost in.

 

Not now. She’s talking down to  you. She thinks less of you.

 

This whole ordeal is making her stomach sick. Even Chat Noir's giving her the side eye. He says something but she drowns it out. He isn’t as important to her anyways,

 

 _If you knew who I was you wouldn’t talk to me like this._ She thinks. It’s Antibug all over again.

 

“Are you saying _I’m_ the akuma!?” Chlo- no.Queen Bee says. “I thought we were friends!

 

"What are you talking about? We've never met before in my-"

 

"You know what?” Queen Bee asks. “You need me a lot more than I need you. I'll defeat this akuma myself."

 

And she storms off without another word.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe this! After all I've supported her."

 

...

"She'd be lucky to have me around."

 

...

"I'll show her."

 

...

"Just wait."

 

...

Queen Bee pauses mid step, mid rant, and listens.

 

There's that music again. Soft jazz. It sends chills down her spine just hearing it. She hadn't really noticed how far she'd gotten, All the way to M Damocles office too, light spilling out of it softly. Hadn't realized how dark it was either.

 

The door creaks open. Queen Bee grabs for the blow darts strapped to her hip.

 

The music intensifies.

 

The room is almost as dark as the rest of the school, the only light spilling from the window. It hits her just right. Nice to know something is in her favor. For a bit she forgets to be mad.

 

_"The second she walked in, I could tell there was somethin' on her mind. You could tell she wasn't used to it. Pretty young thing, yeah, but she musta scowled more often than she had a coherent thought. I knew straight away this girl meant business -and not the funny kind."_

 

It takes her a minute to figure where the voice is coming from, and for a second she thinks it's a recording. It's too accurate, too specific. No. The voice is coming from inside the office itself.

 

Queen Bee stares at the Akuma and the Akuma stares right back. He's male, wearing a long trenchcoat and a fedora, leaning up against M Damocles’ desk with a smug grin. The kind that makes you want to punch someone.

 

_"It isn't what I can do for you, doll face. It's what you can do for me."_

 

If there is anything that pisses Queen Bee off more than poor fashion decisions,  it’s being ignored- especially by jazz- playing idiots with little taste. "That doesn't even make sense!"

 

The Akuma moves, and the light shifts with him. He opens his eyes, eyebrow twitching. "It would,” He says- the only proof she has that he’s paying attention to her at all. “if you would _just follow the script!_ "

 

She barely has enough time to reach for her blow darts before he grabs for his gun- and even then has barely enough time to bring it to her lips before he points it at her chest. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck.

 

The akuma laughs. “I see we’re at a standstill.” He says. “I wonder who’ll shoot first?”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices M Damocles behind the desk, eyes wide and frozen into place. The details are way too fuzzy, and the light source won’t change. Like an old black and white photo. No. It’s too flat. A cardboard cutout.

 

_Shit._

 

If he wanted a picture he should have just asked.  There’s no way in hell she’s giving him the real thing.

 

Queen Bee blows one of the darts and it hits him between the eyes. They widen. “What the fuck? You were supposed to…. Supposed to…” The Akuma sways, a slow smile creeping across his face. He giggles. For a second, he flickers into his civilian form. She’s not sure who- some idiot in the drama department or something. She could care less about the details. All she knows is that it isn’t Marinette and it isn’t her precious Adrien. (She’s not wrong, she just isn’t right at this very moment in time. It’ll happen eventually- she’s certain of it.) “Why doesn’t anyone ever… ever follow the script?”

 

And with that, he slumps over and hits the ground with a thud. Color bounces back. The jazz stops. (Thank god, her ears were about to bleed.)

 

She thinks he’s unconscious, and she grins, kicking his unconscious body.

 

Then he grabs her ankle and she screams. Loudly.

 

Queen Bee shoots him four more times out of pure panic. The Akuma rolls over, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A thin line of drool drips down the side of his chin. It’s sorta gross, and reminds her of a dead fish, but he isn’t trying to make her into a living cardboard cutout so she supposes there’s that.

 

She de transforms five minutes later. There’s a burst of yellow light, and Zeezle, and before she knows it she’s Chloé again.

 

“What was that?” She snaps. “I wasn;t finished yet!”

 

“I gave you five minutes! Didn’t you hear the beeping”

 

Chloé shrugs. “It isn’t my fault. You didn’t bother to tell me otherwise.

 

“You weren't supposed to use all five at once anyways. Who does that?” Zeezle says, and flops on to M Damocles’ desk with an overdramatic sigh. She’s doing the martyr thing, and it’s pissing Chloé off. That’s her bit.

 

Chloé sniffs indignantly. “The Akuma was trying to kill me! What else was I supposed to do?”

 

“Just give me my soft pretzels already. He’ll wake up long before Ladybug and Chat Noir get here anyways.”  That’s right. They would’ve heard her scream.

 

The last time she saw those two, they were in the gym. They could easily get here in minutes,

 

“Or you could just **_transform me_ ** already.” Chloé says. She examines her nails, Fighting the Akuma seems to have broken one.

 

“You didn’t pack any did you.” Says Zeezle. Why should she? How was she supposed to know Kwamis ate more than once a day?

 

“You ate breakfast- didn’t you? What more do you want for me?”

 

Zeezle sighs. “I need to regain my energy before I can-”

 

Both of them freeze. Footsteps.

 

“Get under the desk.”

 

“What?” Chloé says. “But these are brand new jeans! And It’s all filthy!”

 

“I said, get under the desk. Do you want you keep your secret identity or not?” Chloé hesitates. It’s very tempting. Their alter egos could be besties in real life too. Could go shopping together, could get manicures, synch their outfits…

 

“Honestly you’re the dumbest excuse for a miraculer I’ve ever had.” Says Zeezle, pulling on the edge of Chloé’s ponytail. So much for not having any energy… She thinks. “The Akuma’s waking up too.” She's right. The saxophone music is starting up again, and all the color is draining. Still...

 

“But my jeans-”

 

“But your life. No miraculer of mine is going to get caught over something as stupid as a pair of pants.” Zeezle says, yanking her back by her hair. Chloé’s got no choice but to oblige. Better this than dying she thinks. (Even if it means being covered in dust until she can change at lunch.)

 

Ladybug and Chat Noir barge in only minutes after the akuma wakes up and the ‘battle’  is quick and easy. She doesn’t catch much of the dialogue and she misses the action, but to be this close and not actually being attacked is fantastic.  To think, Ladybug’s close enough to touch her… It makes her stomach all fuzzy just thinking about it.

 

She’s still thinking about shoulder touches and superhero suits when it’s all over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's Monster of The Week, is an exchange student from Quebec named Pierre who's very fond of Film Noir. His akuma name is Cliffhanger and he gets antsy when people misquote movies. He's very lonely and probably a hipster, but he has a cute french boyfriend that he meets every Tuesday for movie marathons.
> 
> Rules for Queen Bee's stinger:  
> Five darts only, each one can only be used once per transformation  
> 1 dart can calm a normal person, 2 can knock 'em out, but it takes all five to soothe an akuma for more than a few minutes  
> Even then they aren't really defeated? And Hawk-moth can wake them up pretty quickly.  
> The effect also wears off almost immediately once they de-transform. This is to prevent Deus ex Machina


	4. Zeezle, Why Does God Allow Suffering? (or Why Boring Things Happen to Beautiful People)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the mini hiatus there! Things have been super, super hectic lately.

* * *

 

_ I was married to a man I hardly knew outside of coffee shops and thrown into a role I’d gone my whole life trying to avoid. _

 

_ But I’d tried life my way. I’d tried being mysterious, and I’d tried being adventurous and I’d ended up sleeping behind gutters and selling my paintings for practically nothing. I was cold and miserable and alone, and if shelter meant playing wife for some rich up-and-comer with a charming smile that I’d only known for a year then I sure as hell was gonna do it. _

 

_ Because there was no way I was going home. Not like this. Not when I’d been so close. _

* * *

 

Second Chances must be like designer ball gowns; because apparently you can’t wear them two days in a row without being tacky.

 

It takes Chloé three days to realize this. 

 

The first is eventless. 

 

She wakes up in the morning and checks the Ladyblog, refreshing fifteen times for updates on Queen Bee, but finding her efforts fruitless. She combs through pages and pages of forum posts, but all she finds is a bunch of posts about that idiot akuma and his ‘problems’. (There’s an Akuma born every week. Hasn’t Alya realized that the real scoop isn’t some lonely exchange student but a beautiful bee warrior queen?) 

 

She goes to school frustrated and fuming. A good talk with Sabrina about her fashion choices cheers her right up. It’s the little things in life that make it worth it.

 

Chloé  tries everything that second day. Selfies on the Eiffel Tower, vines near the Seine. She’s sprawled out on her bed, and refreshing her status for the umpteenth time, when Zeezle rolls over on her cushion and mutters, “Maybe you should go patrolling.”

 

Chloé pauses. Wrinkles her nose. “Why?”

 

“There’s more to being a superhero than snapping pictures.” Says Zeezle. Sniffing a little too indignantly for Chloé’s taste. “Like _ fighting crime _ .” 

 

“Please.” She says. “The only crime in Paris right now is my post not getting any likes.”

 

By the end of the third day, Chloé is about ready to be akumatized herself. 

 

By the fourth she’s considering arson.

 

She finally gives in to Zeezle’s prodding a week after Cliffhanger rears his ugly film noir head, and even then it’s only because her credit card is maxed out, and her daddy’s too busy preparing the hotel for the embassy to replace it.  Besides- _ Charming Heroine Saves Parisians From Themselves  _ has such a nice ring to it. Alya may have terrible taste in plaid, but she’s no idiot. There’s no way she’ll miss out on a scoop like this. On a scoop like her.

 

She’s getting that front page interview. Even if it means enduring another one of Zeezle’s responsibility speeches,

 

Pretty much the only flaw in Chloé’s plan is finding someplace to transform, and that’s only because she doesn’t feel like climbing out onto the roof again. (She almost broke a nail last time, and getting a manicure  _ at this hour? _ Please.) Really the only solution is to go find a corner without any security cameras and strut out like the star she is. 

 

_ All your eyes will be on me _ . She thinks, then grins. 

 

_ Good. _

* * *

 

**_“Transform Me!”_ **

There’s yellow and there’s light and there’s power.

It wraps around her skin and seeps into her pores.

Until she isn’t Chloé. Until she is. Until she’s something  _ greater. _

Until suddenly she’s Queen Bee

* * *

 

When she’d decided to go patrolling she hadn't really thought it would involve this much  _ walking.  _

 

It wouldn’t be such a pain, really,  if Ladybug was actually here. The nerve of her really. Isn’t she worried about the greater good? About Queen Bee? 

 

Okay. So maybe they had a bit of a rough start. Maybe Ladybug hadn’t really got who Queen Bee was, or how important and necessary she was but there was definitely a spark there. Definately something. If she was Ladybug, she would’ve done something. Scanned Facebook or Twitter or the Ladyblog or something. Maybe tried to keep in touch or something. 

 

Honestly? Doesn’t the girl have an instagram or something?

 

If Zeezle was here she’d say something about boundaries or priorities or responsibility or something just as boring. But she isn’t or she is or they’re both Queen Bee or something, and her opinion is about as valid as thinking sandals need socks. Besides. If Zeezle was, (here or not here or whatever) Queen Be would still ignore her, and she’d still be bored so it doesn’t really matter that much. 

 

She’s almost so busy being bored she almost doesn’t really realize she’s falling off the top of the building she’s pacing.

 

Or- she does realize, but only after she realizes she’s not.

 

Falling that is. 

 

Queen Bee screams. Stares at how far away everything is, the streets and the cars and the people. Like ants. Like ants below her feet. Then she screams again.

 

She sorta continues like this, staring and screaming, that she doesn't really notice the buzzing behind her. Because all she can think about is the fact that she’s supposed to be falling, and the fact that she’s sort of flying but she really isn’t. It’s more like she’s… hovering.

 

Hovering over a street filled with cars.  

 

Oh god…

 

She’s gonna puke. 

 

By her side, her stinger beeps, and it makes her want to puke even more because any second her miraculous will time out and she’ll fall, fall, fall to her death and splatter like spilt caviar.  And they’ll have to scrape her off the cement, and they’ll bury her in a big goopy mess, and no one will talk about how young she was, how she didn’t get too blossum because they won’t even know it’s her. And she can’t help but think that this is just like Zeezle? Like, Queen Bee’s always figured that the kwami hated her, (can you blame her though? If she was an ugly mutant bee, she’d be the same.) but killing her off? 

 

What a stone-cold bitch.

 

If she wasn’t about to die it would be admirable.

 

_ ‘If I get out of this, I swear I’ll be nicer to Sabrina, Marinette, whatever.’ _

 

It's almost the same promise she made when Stoneheart tried to kill her.  She's made it again a thousand other times and never had to go through with it. So it's really no wonder when Queen Bee hears Ladybug's sweet, sweet voice from behind.

 

Luck, she supposes. Luck and good looks.

 

"Oh. It's you again."

 

_ 'Just Kidding. _ ' Queen Bee thinks and sighs in relief. The universe really cut it close this time. For a second it's like it wanted her dead. (Not once does it occur to her that there’s a communicator strapped to her hip. Details like that are so passe.)

 

Oh please. How would Paris even be able to function?

 

"Of course it's me!" She says, gaining the courage to twirl around and hug her hero. Out of the corner of her eye she spots something slide back into her suit. The humming stops. "Who else would it be?"

 

Ladybug pushes her off, and grimaces. "Jeez, you're worse than Chat." She says. "We really need to talk about boundaries."

 

Oh please. Like Queen Bee wouldn't cross any in seconds. Could Ladybug be any more naïve?

 

"We didn't really think you'd be back." She continues, and laughs a little. It sounds better than XY. "We didn't really think you had a miraculous. You understand though right?"

 

Right. Right.

 

There was that fake a while back. A fox girl with terrible taste in lipgloss.

 

Queen Bee grins and tries to hug Ladybug again. "Of course!"

 

"Boundaries!" Ladybug grimaces. She's rather good at pushing Queen Bee away. What she wouldn't give to have those hands doing something else.

 

Like holding hers.

 

She doesn't bother shaking that thought away. It's perfectly normal to want to hold hands with a close friend. Rose and Juleka do it all the time, don’t they? 

 

Queen Bee doesn't bother to apologize. If it's fine for Chat Noir to try and hug Ladybug, it should be perfectly fine for her.

 

Speaking of which....

 

He swoops next to Ladybug with a bow and a  _ 'milady' _ , carefully tucking away his baton. There's a whole lot of flirting after that, (a few nauseating shoulder touches, some witty banter) but like most things that don't concern her, she tunes it out. As long as they don't kiss or anything, she's  _ purrfectly _ fine with whatever romantic subtext the two of them feel like cooking up.

 

(See? She can make puns too! What Ladybug sees in him is beyond her.)

 

As if noticing Queen Bee's presence for the first time, Chat holds out his hand and gives the widest, most disgustingly cheshire grin she's ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. (It's awfully familiar too, but she's too busy being disgusted to think about it.) He starts to say something but she interrupts him.

 

"Yeah, yeah whatever. My name’s Queen Bee, you’re Chat Whatever. When do we get to do the fun stuff?"

 

They both stare at her.

 

She laughs but it sounds fake even to her. “Oh please.” She says. “Like I’m falling for that whole goody-goody act. I may be pretty but I’m not an idiot. What do you two do for fun around here?”

 

“Excuse me?” Says Chat,

 

She laughs again, a little more realistically, her hand lifting towards her mouth like one of those old cartoon characters that Adrien used to make her watch. (Before he started hanging out with that slang spouting loser, that is.) Then she repeats her sentence, a little more slowly. 

 

“What do you think we do on patrols?” Asks Ladybug, her nose wrinkling in confusion. It’s a good look for her. Makes her freckles really pop.

 

“You’re kidding right?” Queen Bee says, her smile dropping. “You two actually patrol?”

 

The two of them nod slowly.  “That’s what we do…”

 

Backtrack.

Backtrack.

**Backtrack!**

 

Queen Bee’s eyebrow twitches, and for a second she flounders. 

 

And then she realizes who she is, and who she’s with. 

 

And then she smiles.

 

“Of course!” She says. Throws both hands in the air for good measure. “Who was I kidding?”

* * *

  
  


If second chances are like ball gowns, responsibility must be granny panties: avoided at all cost.

 

Not only does patrolling require a whole lot of  walking, but it requires actually showing up too, and not doing something actually interesting. Like say… shopping?

 

And apparently??? This is expected of you??? On a daily basis???

 

Even with Ladybug, patrolling about as much fun as physics class. Except the teacher is too busy flirting with her leather-clad, furry class clown to pay attention to the star student.  And there’s no way Sabrina could do the homework for her.  Even now, flipping across Paris searching for Actual Bad Guys, the two of them are too busy locking eyes and sending smiles to do more than tell her not to get distracted.

 

The whole thing, Queen Bee decides, is one big waste of time.  Time she could spend with Ladybug. Or building up her social media platform. (It’s been what? Three days?  You’d think Alya would be clever enough to notice her already. Like seriously. )

 

It’s really no wonder she’s getting distracted.  She can’t help it if she’s bored. 

 

Really the only reason she’d notice Lila at all. 

 

And even then- it’s only because her window is open. Like seriously. Hasn’t the girl have any desire for privacy?

 

But there she is. Curled up in the window seat, her hands full of orange clothe, fingers working furiously. 

 

And it’s just so pitiful, really. Like, Queen Bee almost wants to laugh. 

 

Like, the room’s practically bare. Maybe a few boxes, sure, but aside from a bed pushed against one corner and a pile of clean clothes spilling out of a chest of drawers (All designer rip-offs of course. She’d sniffed it the second Lila had walked into class that first time, clever lies and all.) it’s practically empty. And hasn’t the girl figured out frowning causes wrinkles? Like seriously. She’ll look like she’s forty by the time she graduates.

 

Queen Bee can’t help it, She smirks.

 

And then Lila looks up. 

 

For a second it’s just the two of them, Lila and her flustered fury, Queen Bee and her boredom. For a second something flashes. For a second Lila isn’t rage and frustration, but absolutely terrified. And then Lila’s eyes widen. And then she has the audacity to laugh.

 

Something spikes in Queen Bee’s blood, because suddenly  _ she’s _ the one who’s scared, and caught, and can’t move.

 

And she sorta stands there, practically staring Lila in the eyes, her gut twisting and turning.

 

And oh god- deja vu much? 

 

Because she thinks she’s gonna vomit.

 

There’s a _‘hey, are you coming?’_ and the spell is broken, and she’s able to look away, her heart pounding and pounding and pounding, her blood still rushing in her ears. And somehow she’s found the strength to move again, because suddenly she’s running or hovering or whatever.

 

Like with  the old man, she tries to forget about Lila. 

 

Like with the old man, she maxes out her credit card again, and gets a new haircut, and practically fills her camera roll with selfies.

  
But like with the old man, there’s something about this whole Lila thing she can’t quite forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I realize that this chapter might seem a little... lacking, but I swear it's got a lot of very important things in it that will come back to bite in the future, so bear with me.
> 
> We pretty much only have one more chapter before stuff hits the fan anyways, but I've already got the basics planned, and I've already started on it, so if it isn't posted before the end of this week, get a little worried? Now that I've got a handle on the plot things will hopefully really pick up the pace. I just need to set the stage a little. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! Love you all.


	5. Adventures in Third Wheeling. (Or- The Five-Finger Discount Strikes Again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of Chat Bashing in here. He deserves none of it, thb, but thought I should give you guys a heads up.
> 
> My poor son. Literal sunshine and light. (And okay, bad puns and sin too.)

 

* * *

 

_ Being her was much better than being me. _

 

_ I was newly wed with a kid I never wanted and a husband who was more interested in his career than the   so called nuclear family he used as a front. _

 

_ But when I was her? I was everything I ever wanted. _

* * *

 

At this point, the average attitude of most Parisians during and akuma attack was to get somewhere sort of safe and probably high while they watched Ladybug and Chat Noir save the day, and honestly? If she wasn’t Queen Bee and if this wasn’t her big break or whatever, Chloé Bourgeois would probably be the same. Only a complete idiot would pass up the chance to see them in battle. Terrible romantic subtext and all.

 

Even if it gets in the way of her shopping spree.

 

And okay, technically they'd been heading back anyways. There was some big gala or whatever with the embassy and Andre Bourgeois had made it  _ very clear  _ before she left that not only was she expected to show up, but entertain some rich delegate’s spoiled brat. 

 

The whole thing seemed terribly boring, but rich meant power, and power meant leeway and benefits and if Chloé had learned  _ anything  _ from growing up as the mayor’s daughter it was that one wrong piece of gossip could take away everything. She’d seen it happen before, seen the way politicians had fallen from the public’s eye with only a handful of half-truths and poorly timed bribes. Like that Dark Knight loser a while back who thought he could mess with her daddy in that last election.

 

Anyways, Gala meant impressing rich people and naturally that meant a whole new outfit.

 

Naturally she’d brought Sabrina along. Who else to carry her bags while she’s trying on shoes? (See what power gets you? Perks!)

 

They were actually running a little late when the Akuma comes. Galas meant ball gowns and ball gowns meant heels, and heels meant handbags, and there was no way any of this could be old. This was Paris after all. Not some circus. These things required fineness.

 

Or- at least that's what she told herself everytime she looked a clock.

 

Anyways. Shoes.

 

Chloé' trying on shoes- stuck between a sparkly pair of heels that walked (pun not intended) a thin line between socially acceptable and completely over the top and a plainer, pale, blue pair with the Agreste sigil inside the sole. Both are terribly overpriced. Both are perfect.

 

She's frowning, balancing them in her hands. Next to her, Sabrina's practically gone, her face covered in hat boxes and shopping bags as her legs struggle to keep her standing.

 

She's debating asking for her opinion actually. It's the fastest way to find out out which pair not to get.

 

But there really isn't time for that now. Not with the huge boom that shakes the entire store. Not with the screams of terror that come with it.

 

Chloé sighs. Tosses both pairs at Sabrina. "Hold this for me."

 

Destiny calls. Or something like that.

* * *

 

Whoever this  _ 'Hawkmoth'  _ fellow is, he must have the tackiest taste because this newest Monster of the Week is absolutely hideous.

 

Like seriously? She hasn't seen this much pink on anyone other than Rose, and that tacky purse strapped to her hip looks like someone spray painted a paper bag and added a bow. The bodysuit by itself wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for those sleeves. They're longer than the Akuma herself and curled like claws.

 

_ Someone needs a manicure.  _ She thinks, then giggles a little. Not even Chat’s that clever. She should give herself a medal. 

 

Queen Bee almost considers turning back- she’s got a gala to prepare for after all- but she’s already out here, and making quips, so there really no point. Even if the Akuma’s super lame, Even if she misses a hair appointment. Besides. Someone has to stop this fashion disaster and it might as well be someone with a sense of style

 

Ladybug and Chat Noir are already on the scene, trading blows and dodging the shoes and hangers the Akuma’s currently flying from her purse. Ladybug’s clockwork, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, keeping time with her movements. It’s almost hypnotizing.  She has to pinch herself to snap out of it.

 

There are more important things to deal with. Like the fact that if she doesn’t hurry up and get there, not only will she miss her Great Debut 2.0, but her hair appointment at hair. (Not that she really needs either of them. She’s never had a bad hair day in her life.)

 

She hesitates to check her reflection in the mirror (flawless as ever.) and stretches her mouth into a wide grin.  If she squints she can sort of see Alya running towards the Akuma like the trouble loving reporter she is. Good.

 

She’s about to make history.

* * *

 

“I came here to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now!” Sighs the Akuma. She’s leaning against the sign of some low-level boutique, pulling another god-awful pair of shoes from that even worse atrocity of her purse.

 

Chat Noir sighs.  Mutters something about out of date memes and the older generation trying to fit in. Something like that. There was a cat pun in there too, but Queen Bee’s got better things to do than listen to some has-been feline joke around on the job. 

 

She flutters down on new-found wings, and, making sure Alya’s watching, lifts her stinger to her lips and shoots. 

 

Bullseye. In more ways than one.

 

The Akuma staggers from her perch, her eyes growing wide. Slowly she lifts a clawed sleeve and brushes the dart away. ”You  _ bitch!” _

 

She’s standing in seconds, but it’s the chance Ladybug has to scream,  **_Lucky Charm,_ ** before the Akuma lunges again. 

 

Queen Bee smirks. Tries to make sure that Alya gets her good side. She’s tempted to shoot the Akuma again, but Chat Noir’s already flung himself into the action again, ready to defend His Lady. Her hands ball into fists. It’s infuriating how he’s managed to block her exact line of sight, and she’s almost tempted to shoot for it anyways, but she’s only got four of them left and hasn’t yet figured out how many darts it takes to defeat an Akuma.

 

Besides. Alya’s already run on after him.

Queen Bee leans against the building and hovers angrily. 

 

_ Fine. _ She thinks. _ You want to play it that way? _

 

_ I can do anything you do but better. _

 

Except she doesn’t really get her chance.

 

Because just then Ladybug throws her magical eggbeater and a wave of beetles wipes away any chance of revenge she’s ever gonna get.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t thank you enough.”  Says a man, the manager of the boutique if his offbrand suit is anything worth noticing. Next to him, the Akuma- now a teenage girl- is wrapped in blanks. She’s talking to Chat. Probably about puns.“I’m not kidding. Coupons? Discounts? Name it.” 

 

The tissue he’s using to soak up the sweat from his infinate forehead drops. Ladybug picks it up and hands it to him with a smile. “It’s nothing, really. We’re just doing our job.”

 

The man looks almost relieved.  He smiles even wider, and shakes her hand, stammering another thank you.

  
  


“Excuse me?” Says Queen Bee. She doesn’t even bother to wait until they’re out of earshot. (That’s how little she cares.) “What was that?”

 

Ladybug drops her smile, her hands raising to her miraculous. “I don’t have time for this.” She mutters.

 

“He was offering to reward us! Don’t we deserve to get paid?”

 

“That’s not why we do this.” Ladybug says. “We’re heroes-not mercenaries.” Then she yoyos away.

 

Like wow. Okay, Queen Bee’s miraculous is beeping too and she hasn’t started running off. Way to be rude. 

 

_ Besides,  _ she thinks,  _ What’s with that whole hero spheel? _

 

She transformed five minutes later in the changing room of the boutique, a wad of coupons in her hands. She stuffs them in her pockets before Zeezle can see them. There’s no point in having them- she doesn’t shop there anyways- but she can slip them into Sabrina’s bag as a nice surprise. God knows the girl needs it.  She’s only seen shorts like that in her nightmares. 

Not that Zeezle cares. She’s not even speaking to her.

 

_ Good.  _ Chloé thinks. Checks her messages. Her inbox is practically overflowing, what with Ladyblog updates and all the text messages. She really should check the blog. Give her something to do while she gets her hair done.

 

Hair....

Gala…

_ Shit. _

 

No wonder her phone keeps beeping. She’s gone and missed half the ceremony. 

 

Okay. Okay. So it’ll be a rush job. Her hair’s already looking pretty good- maybe a quick shampoo and blow dry and she’s done. She can get to the hotel in fifteen minutes as Queen Bee anyways, Zeezle’s probably done eating by now so it’ll be a pinch. Her daddy will understand anyways.  André Bourgeois has always been forgiv-

 

Another text pops up on her screen. Four words.

 

**_Long live the king._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short, really gross but really important. Next chapter is where the fun starts though. (Part of the reason this took so long was because I wrote ahead.)


	6. Trouble in Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry there have been SATs and AP tests, and a heckuva lotta stress, but here it is!

 

* * *

 

You’d think, disappearing night after night he would have caught on a little. Then again he never was all that bright.

 

* * *

 

Chloé gets there as fast as she can. Okay no. That’s a lie. Chloé’s  driver gets there as fast as he can. And even then it’s clearly not fast enough, because it’s already dark and there aren’t any limos at  the front entrance which means that the gala must of started without her. (How they can even start without the host’s daughter is beyond her. How embarrassing. For them.) He drops her off without a word and she hands him her daddy’s business card instead of a tip. No questions asked.  André Bourgeois doesn’t hire idiots. Only the best for his precious princess. 

Things are strangely silent the walk to the door. 

Zeezle’s still ignoring her, (she had outright refused to transform earlier, saying there’d be disastrous consequences if Chloé had tried.) and she’d ripped the battery out of her phone after the beeping kept interrupting her when she’d tried to call her driver.   She’d half expected it to keep ringing afterwards. Whatever. If she’s still getting those messages later, she’ll just have it replaced.  This brand’s out of style anyways. She’s always due for an upgrade.

Speaking of things she’s owed… where the hell is the doorman?  She’s standing out here,  practically in the street  and there’s no one to hold the door open for her? What is this- the dark ages? Whatever. She’ll just have to remember to ask her daddy to fire him later. He’s always had a thing against her anyways so it’s not like the man didn’t have it coming.

She’s too busy fuming, that she almost doesn’t notice that the lobby’s empty too. Or that the halls are practically bare, to the point where she almost bumps into a stray maid’s cart blocking her door. (She pushes it aside completely repulsed. The audacity of some people!) 

It takes her only thirty minutes to get dressed. Thirty incredibly furious minutes, sure but still. (She should get a reward. That’s the fastest she’s ever gotten ready.) The hall’s still frustratingly empty afterwards and when she pops her battery, her inbox is practically lighting up. She slams it against the wall and crushes it with her heel. The screen cracks and the battery pops out.

Whoops.

What a shame. Now her daddy has to get her a new phone. (And what will her excuse be this time? Akuma attack? Lack of an upgrade? Akuma attack  because  lack of an upgrade?)

It doesn’t matter anyways. She has better things to worry about. LIke whether or not her hair is even passable or if her nails are the right color for a formal event. There’s really no use worrying about some stupid prank test when she’s got a gala to attend.

 

* * *

 

She gets to the ballroom only a few minutes later, and finds the doors are barred shut. Chloé gives them a test tug, and when they still don’t open starts pounding on them furiously.

There’s no reply.  She might as well have asked the door to open.

If she listens closely she can just make out the sounds of the Gala. Something old and classical. The type of thing that stuffy old men listen to try and make sense of their feeble little lives. Even just standing there she’s bored to tears.

There’s… chanting too. Chanting and stomping and laughing.  So it’s not like things are completely empty or something.

Like wow.  Okay. She sees how it is. The girl who just saved Paris not even able to get into her own hotel. It’s frustrating really, being able to hear all of them having fun like this. How can they even think of starting when the daughter of the host hasn’t even made her debut? 

It’s enough to make a superheroine feel a little unwelcome. 

She really should just skip everything altogether. Stop worrying about the text messages, not even bother going to the gala. Draw a bath maybe, make Monsieur Moustache bring up some sushi, all in the privacy of her own room. A nice soak sounds nice right now. Very soothing for poor, aching limbs. She just defeated an Akuma right? She deserves this.

(Maybe she should call Ladybug? Or her stupid sidekick. He’s got those destructo superpowers right? Could burst the doors right open. Would that be an entrance or what?  She’d rather not ask for his help, but if no one lets her into the damn room she’ll probably have too. (She could claim there was another akuma attack. They’d be a little inconvenienced sure, but Ladybug would understand.))

The chanting is getting louder. If she felt like sticking her face against the door she could probably make out what it’s saying. Good thing she doesn’t. 

Chloé pounds on the door again. 

And again. Nothing,

Hands trembling in anger, she reaches for her phone to call and complain but finds only air. That’s right.  She threw it out. It was because of that constant beeping, she reminds herself, sniffing. 

It’s not like I can’t replace it or anything. Or that I need it.

If Sabrina were here, she’d borrow hers. She wouldn’t normally be caught dead with an older model but well, this is clearly an emergency.  

Whatever. She’d have better luck climbing in through the window.

The chanting is even louder than before. Still faint, sure, but just loud enough to make out what the hell they are saying.

Song? No. Wrong? Something about a ring? Wrong bring the rings? Whatever. It’s not her name why should she pay attention?

No wait. She misheard it. 

A chill runs down her spine. Her hands fall to her side.

She has to be wrong. She has to be. There’s no way. 

Long live the king indeed.

 

* * *

 

You are one year old.

You are one year old and I'm unable to even touch you without you starting to scream, but that's alright with me because I didn't really want to be around you to begin with. Your father is the same way.

In the beginning I bribe the Butler. He's the only one who you don't seem to look down on. I wonder what he has that I don't?

 

* * *

 

The nice thing about Queen Bee (besides the obvious power trip and cute outfit) is that she can smash through a door faster than Chloe ever could. It's a good thing too. She'd have broken a heel otherwise, and besides, nothing says entrance like breaking into a fancy event. (Where there are most certainly supposed to be cameras!)

She hadn't really thought there’d be an akuma. If she’d known her presence was that important she would have bothered to change her eyeshadow.  Or maybe brought Alya along for an interview. Wouldn’t that look great on the ladyblog? And her full screen too. She’s really outdoing herself here, like wow, way to make a great impression.

Right before she smashes in the door, Queen Bee wonders if she should call for backup.  

She almost laughs. Please. She can take care of one akuma. 

Right?

 

* * *

 

You are three years old.

You are three years old and already spend more time with that Agreste child than you do with your own mother. He laughs. Calls it a sign of true love. I call it a sign of knowing who to suck up to.

The next night I leave. She doesn't approve of what I'm doing, not all the way that is, but I notice she doesn't try and stop me.

You seem to be in good hands.

I'm just glad they aren't my own.

* * *

 

The door smashes to the side and she struts in looking a lot like a supermodel. The music screeches to a stop. All eyes are on her.

Good. It’s about freaking time.

Queen Bee grins and tries to think of something witty to say, and when nothing comes just sticks her hand on her hip. “Well?” She asks. “Are we gonna fight or what? I’ve got a party to get back to and trust me when I say that looking  this good takes work, even for me.”

Everyone’s silent. Hundreds of thousands of faces all staring back at her.  Hotel guests. Maids. The orchestra. 

“Long live the king?” Asks a server, his serving plate abandoned in his hands. Everyone’s nodding, murmuring.  Clapping.

Queen Bee’s eyebrows twitch as she struggles to keep smiling. ( Frowning causes wrinkles, my dear. She’s not sure who said it originally, but she bets it was someone important. Someone beautiful.) “Long live the Queen. ” She says. “Pronouns.”

 

* * *

 

You are five years old.

You are five years old starting today, and I'm halfway through a bottle when he calls me up. I almost choke. Privacy had been pricy. I hadn't expected to have been found so easily.

He says people are getting suspicious. That election day is coming and there are rumours. He wants to know what to say. Or that if I'll come back.

I notice he's forgotten your birthday. Don't worry. It won't be the last time, I'm sure of it.

* * *

 

They are chanting again. It’s getting on her nerves. Like wow, okay, can’t you think of anything else? She’s heard parrots with more originality than them. 

If that isn’t frustrating enough, they’ve decided to ignore her. Her! If this wasn’t such a pain to deal with she’d be cracking up right now. 

Queen Bee doesn’t hesitate pushing them aside, they’re too busy chanting and bowing to really do anything about it. The ceiling's high enough, she could fly over them if she wanted to,

It’s better this way. It’s a little like drawing out the akuma. If he has a problem with it, he should just fight back.

 

* * *

 

You are nine years old.

You are nine years old and he asks if you can visit, and I have to pause. He can't see it through the phone, but, my hands are trembling and I'm shaking my head no. No I don't want to see you. No I don't want anything to do with you. Inside my mind I'm, I'm practically screaming for him to hang up, to never call again. I've changed my number a thousand times. I'm moved all over Europe. I’ve said it before: the only thing that can give me privacy is money, but it's the only thing that can steal it away too.

He says you want to see me but I know he's lying. He's doing that thing where he deepens his voice. You're too stupid to have figured it out yet. I'm certain of it.

I ask him why he keeps calling me. I tell him I'm following my dream.  That I don't care about nor want to see you.

You must have inherited your father's brains because he doesn't figure out that only that last half is true. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Out of one prison sentence and serving another.

He says you're my daughter, that you need me and I can't help but laugh because the only thing you need is discipline, and the only thing he needs is a beard.  Perhaps a parenting book too. I'd seen his credit card bill enough when I was still trapped with him to know that the only time he spends is finding the perfect present.

I almost feel a little bad for you. It's a shame you never inherited human emotions from me.

I hang up on him and change my number again. Then I purchase a plain ticket. 

 

* * *

 

There’s a shadow at the end of the room, where the curtain dips a little. A figure sits inside. She wouldn’t have noticed really, if he wasn’t covered head to toe in gold. Honestly, the man’s practically dripping in the stuff, a regular king midas with a terribly gaudy sense of fashion. They’ve already had one royalty themed akuma anyways. Like wow, way to be a walking cliche.

She can’t see his face, partially because it’s blocked out by that huge scepter he’s carrying but also because there isn’t actually any light? Still she finds herself grinning wider and reaching for her stinger. As that dumb cat would say: bingo.

This is a piece of cake. Didn’t really even need any help anyways. Why Ladybug and Chat even bother actually fighting is beyond her, especially considering that the akuma is just sitting there in plain sight!  

He shifts his weight and turns his head, and Queen Bee is sure she’s struck gold. She’s got a clear shot at this point. Only an idiot would be able to -

They make eye contact and Queen Bee hesitates. It’s only for a second, really. There’s no way she was distracted for longer than that. 

Clearly it’s enough because he’s making his way towards her, that stupid cliche-ridden red robe trailing on the ground and scepter in hand. She tries to run but she can’t. Tries not to cringe as A thousand sweaty palms rub against her skin, and hold her in place. Her stinger falls to the floor and he crushes one of the darts with the heel of his foot, yellow goop splashing everywhere. 

No one’s ever destroyed her weapon before. She didn’t think that was even possible.

She’s been in this kind of situation a thousand times plus and yet, never once in her entire life has she ever been truly been terrified by an Akuma. Then again… that was as Chloé, who has always had her father’s status to back her up.

 

Never once has she considered he could be Akumatized and turned against her.


	7. The Only Monarch I’ll Accept is Me!

* * *

_ Love makes you do some pretty stupid things, my dear. One day you’ll understand. _

* * *

 

 

Queen Bee’s miraculous beeps in her hair.

 

She’s not sure why she notices this, or even really why she cares.  Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe he’ll stop trying to kill her once he realizes it’s his special girl? His princess? 

 

The Akuma does hesitate though so at least she’s sort of right, even if it is because there’s some stupid glowing butterfly around his eyes and he’s reaching for her comb.  She flinches away, her wings flapping uselessly as she tries to pull free but the hands are too tight and they only pull her closer. She wants to scream and she tries, but she can barely even breath, let alone speak. 

 

There’s red- her vision has gone blurry, it must be that butterfly mask that Akumas get- red light wrapping around his eyes and suddenly he’s stopping, his gazing slipping to the floor. He snaps his fingers and one of the guests at the cala - a young woman looking all too eager to please- picks it up and hands it to him. Her dress is wrinkled. She’s not sure why she notices but she does.

 

He rolls it around in her fingers- it looks so small, have her father’s hands always been so big?- then presses a button. Something clicks and the whole front slides off. The screen that pops off is hardly bigger than his thumbnail. 

 

“Throw her in the dungeon.” André Bourgeois- or the akuma possessing him- says with a wave of that stupid scepter. ‘She’s useless to me now.”

 

Queen Bee almost wants to laugh, and if her heart wasn’t hammering away in her chest, she might’ve. They’ve never had a dungeon before- doesn’t he realize how stupid he sounds? Like wow, we get it. King of the freaking castle. Why he’s even still playing the monarchy card is beyond her. She’d like to speak to whoever thinks these things up and smack some sense into them. 

 

Besides. There’s only room for one monarch here and she’s majorly pissed.

* * *

 

Out of all the places in a luxury hotel one could use as a prison, the best thing its manager can think up just so happens to be a janitorial closet in the basement. It’s humiliating really, her, a superheroine with powers greater that they could ever imagine, tied up and tossed over someone’s shoulder. 

 

When André  Bourgeois had said to throw her, he probably had not meant literally.

 

Still, Queen Bee’s here and it’s dreary and damp and smells like the unholy union of mildew and bleach, and the very fact that she has to touch all that makes her nauseous. It’s blacker than Chat’s suit in here too, the only light coming from a sliver under the door. There isn’t even a window. What kind of janitorial closet doesn’t even have a window?

 

She has to struggle to stand. Not because she’s injured or anything- although with a landing like that she might very well be- but because it’s so goddamned cramped that every movement forces her to brush against the shelves. Even then, her elbow touches a mop and she cringes. The suit may prevent any germs or dirt, but it’s the thought that counts.

 

She’s almost thankful she can’t see. Who knows what horrors she’d find.

 

Queen Bee tries the door. It doesn’t work. She’s not even sure why she bothered.  Not even someone under the control of an Akuma victim would be that stupid.

 

Then she takes a step back and almost trips on a bucket. So much for kicking down the door.

 

Queen Bee takes a deep breath. “Let me out!” She screams. “Don't you know who I am”

 

No reply. She hasn’t decided if this is good or bad yet.  She’d slump to the floor if it wasn’t so filthy in here. (Shouldn’t a janitor's closet be fairly clean? Or at least sanitized.) 

 

No. Complaining can wait. 

 

_ Think of the ladyblog.  And looking badass in front of Ladybug and Chat. That’ll show that dumb cat.  _

 

_ I’m twice the superhero he is. _

 

If Queen Bee can’t escape, maybe Chloé can.

 

Or better yet a certain kwami...

 

Changing back is quick. Zeezle seems almost as eager to de-transform as Queen bee was. And while that bright light that comes with it blinds her at first, it’s well worth that quick flash of clarity.

 

“Well?” Chloé asks, once it’s faded. “Aren’t you going to open the door for me?”

 

.

..

…

There’s silence. It’s frustratingly deafening.

 

“You aren't still ignoring me are you? You’re my kwami you’re  _ supposed  _ to do what I say.” 

 

She doesn’t have time for this. Ladybug and Chat Noir are probably on her way. How the hell is she supposed to prove herself if her own kwami won’t listen to her.

 

“Heroes, “ Says Zeezle slowly, as if they have all the time in the word. “Don’t charge money for doing the right thing.”

 

Chloé almost laughs. No, that’s wrong. She does laugh. “Are you really mad over that?” She manages to say, practically bent over. “Oh please. They were just some dumb coupons. It’s not like I stole half the store or something.”

 

More silence. 

 

Something brushes against her foot and she has to stifle a scream.

 

_ “Just open the door already!” _

 

There’s an audible sniff. “Heroes don’t charge money for doing the right thing.” Says Zeezle a little louder. “Honestly? Why’d I even get stuck with someone like you?”

 

“Stuck? Stuck with me? How do you think I feel? I’m the one who’s stuck listening to some flying rat whine all day about responsibilities I don’t even care about!”

 

There’s a pause. It stretches on for an eternity. 

 

She crosses her arms and shifts her weight. Her skirt’s probably filthy right now. And the air’s getting so hot she can barely breath. Maybe she’ll die here, dirty and suffocating and forgotten.

 

“Fine!” She screams. “I’ll return the stupid coupons.”

 

More silence. Even more overwhelming than before.

 

And then a click.

 

She winces as light floods into the closet, a familiar blob of yellow floating from the other end and practically phased into the door still. 

 

“Are you happy now?” Says Chloé and Zeezle grins. 

 

“Very.” 

 

Then Chloé runs.

* * *

 

It doesn’t take much to slip into the back of the crowd. The door’s still smashed open and the Gala’s started up again and it’s all very chaotic. It still makes her blood boil that they aren’t bowing down to her. When this is all over, she’s taking a day off. No patrols. No akumas. Nothing. Maybe she’ll even skip school and take a spa day instead. 

 

It’s not like Chloé doesn’t deserve it. She’s practically royalty anyways.

 

Speaking of kings…

 

Her father’s in the same place as before. Almost the same position too- leaning against his throne in the back, and practically shrouded in darkness. The only difference is the scepter, tossed aside in favor for her stinger.

 

_ Damn. _ She thinks. She’d been hoping it would vanish with the rest of Queen Bee, but apparently not. Doesn’t he realize how much it clashes? That pattern with  _ those _ robes? Clearly color coordination isn’t something that can be passed genetically, because apparently her own father can’t pick out an outfit without something going terribly wrong. 

 

Priorities. She thinks. You aren’t here to fix other people’s mistakes.

 

Although isn’t that what saving the day is all about?

 

Chloé takes a deep breath. Once again wonders if she should call backup. Wonders if she should let them do all the work. _ Alya isn’t here, _ she thinks. This isn’t going to end up on the Ladyblog. There really isn’t much of a point.

 

And then she thinks of Chat’s smug grin. And she’s so angry she almost blows her cover.

 

Chloé watches André  from the edge of the crowd, watches him stand, the stinger tossed to the side like some toy. It makes her gut burn. How dare he disrespect her like that.

 

He stands up and with a wave of his hand, everyone’s turning towards him, mid step, midbow. He grins and stretches out his hands, as if welcoming their praise. 

 

_ That should be me.  _ Chloé thinks, but keeps her mouth shut. Her hands have curled into fits around her skirt. If she tightens them any more it will tear the fabric.

 

_ Good. It’s filthy anyways. _

 

Once the clapping dies down and the long live the kings have faded, André - no the Akuma starts to speak. “My kingdom isn’t big enough.” He says. “I want everyone in on the fun. let's bring Paris to its knees!”

 

The crowd erupts into cheers, a thousand people all screaming his name, all clapping until she can hardly hear her own thoughts. Practically deafening. Everyone’s swarming too, pushing all out at once and lifting her father- throne and all- into the air. They all want to be the first, the best, the loudest. First one out, first one to please. 

 

She’s struggling against the crowd and pushing forward, but they keep swallowing her up. She’s fought crowds before. Pushed little old ladies out of the way for a pair of shoes and Marinette down a flight of stairs just for the chance to talk to Adrien.  So she’s no stranger to showing people out of the way to get what she wants. But this?

 

This feels impossible. She might as well be fighting against a tsunami.

 

Somehow she manages to crawl free, to pull herself from the throngs of people and crawl under a table. Afterwards, she squeezes her eyes shut and begs. Begs for it to be all over. 

 

Chloé doesn’t even realize they’re gone at first. Takes her a few minutes to figure out that all that pounding is actually the sound of her own heart.

 

She opens her eyes, and starts to stand, but her knees are too numb and she slips on her own shirt. She tries again, using the table as support. 

 

It doesn’t take her long to figure out she’s alone. It’s both frustrating and relieving.

 

If she was anyone but Chloé Bourgeois she’d be terrified right now. Then again, for her, fear and anger have always come hand in hand.

 

Like before, the transformation is finished in minutes,

* * *

 

Queen Bee’s too late. 

 

She realizes this the second she steps out the hotel, the second Chat Noir vaults into view, the second the crowd of people starts swarming after them. She curses her luck,  (why’s it always him? Why’s it never her?) makes eye contact and starts flying towards the Akuma.

 

Tonight has been terrible. She should’ve figured something else would have gone wrong. 

 

Chat Noir slides next to her anyways, wearing another one of his Cheshire grins.  “Hey Honey Bee?” He says, and she turns and frowns.

 

_ He’s not even trying… _

 

_ What does she see in him?  _

 

_ Anything he does I do better. _

 

Queen Bee just keeps staring at the akuma, her lip curling in disgust. “She’s not here yet.” She snaps. “You can cut the act.” 

 

Out of the corner of her eye she watches his smile drop and she almost smirks before she remembers she’s supposed to be frowning. He might think she’s teasing if she smiles.  Think she’s being friendly. Doesn’t he realize the severity of the situation? The severity of being stuck with him?

 

Thankfully this is where Ladybug drops in, spearing Queen Bee the trouble of explaining how much she’s starting to hate his guts. 

 

"What did I miss?" She says, and  _ oh god  _ if she wasn’t thoroughly pissed and a whole lot frightened, she’d find that smile absolutely breathtaking. She swears it’s going to be the death of her.

 

She has half a mind to latch on to Ladybug's arm again (it's practically instinct at this point anyways) but she's at a bad angle, and as much as Ladybug falling into her arms sounds absolutely fantastic and completely platonic, they do have an Akuma to deal with and it os her father so she should probably care. Or not really. 

 

"The Akuma's in the sceptor." Queen Bee says, flipping back her hair. "That's what he's using to control people with. Don't ask me what it actually is though. I've never met this man in my life."

 

"Got it." Ladybug says with a slight nod, and swings off, looking all the more like some kind of ballerina spiderman.

 

Chat's giving her a strange look after that- recognition or confusion or maybe both- but she has long since cared what he thinks. Besides. If Chat hasn't figured by now that she hates his guts, then that's his problem not hers. And honestly? Queen Bee's got better, more important things to worry about.

 

Or in her case, a certain someone.

 

'Better make every  second count.' Queen Bee thinks. Ladybug will be done in minutes. There really isn't even any point in sticking around. She and Chat are really only backup.

 

Speaking of idiot cats...

 

He's gone and thrown himself in the middle of all the action. Queen Bee's both peeved that he's in the way of her shot, and hurt that he managed to beat her to it. 

 

It bothers Ladybug too. Something flashes in her eyes-something Queen Bee could never have noticed on the ground or from the T.V. screen- (even in glorious high def.) but it’s something and she's certain it’s annoyance. There’s really nothing else it could be. Ladybug has almost as good taste in things as she does.

 

That nose wrinkle costs her though, and one of the gala members lunges at Ladybug. She leaps out of the way, but not after Queen Bee pulls out her stinger and shoots him. He falls to the ground in a crumpled-but very happy  heap. Not dead, Queen Bee may be drop dead gorgeous but she isn’t a killer, but certainly not conscious. She in a little horrified she has to waste a drt on someone like him. (He’s smiling pretty and drooling all over rental ux he’s wearing) but she did save  _ her  _ so it must have been worth it. 

 

None of this seems to faze Ladybug of course, No, she’s right back in the middle of the fight, practically back to back with that beloved kitty cat. And of course, once again, she’s stuck watching from above. 

 

That’s the frustration of not having a close range weapon. Sure she’s safe and out of harm’s way, but now Chat’s getting all snuggly with Ladybug. They are practically holding hands. It makes her blood boil just looking at the,m.

 

She’s almost too busy sulking to realize that she’s drifted down from her perch. Hell, she’s almost too busy sulking, she doesn’t realize that one of the Gala members has grabbed her foot.  That he’s dragging her down, that as much as her wings strain they can’t lift her any higher. She has to restrain herself from screaming, her hands fumbling as she reaches for one of her darts. She doesn’t bother with the stinger, She can’t think straight. Who would have figured such a small, nerdy looking man would be so strong?

 

Queen Bee stabs him with the dart and his group loosens. She takes a deep breath. Ladybug didn’t even spare her a second glance. Look at her really, all happy and battle ready. With him.

 

“Priorities” She thinks, and not really thinking very clearly, pulls out her stinger and- with the rest of her darts- shoots.

 

It hits Chat Noir right between his pretty little eyes.

* * *

 

There’s a flash of light and Chat falls to the ground- except it isn’t Chat it’s someone else. She can’t really tell who for sure though they seem so familiar, cause the light’s far too bright and it’s just so quick and all the gala members have crowded around him in seconds but there’s a shock of blond hair and green- so much green. Suddenly everything’s very dizzy and the ground is spinning and she can’t exactly feel her legs right now and is that normal? Because she doesn’t think it is. Not for her, no. Something twists in her stomach and she thinks she must be sick because it’s all so foreign to her. 

 

Ladybug turns around, her eyes wide  and the sour feeling grows, her stomach tightening. They make eye contact. She looks furious. Frightened. She’s screaming his name.

 

This is what she wants. Queen Bee reminds herself, and tries to smile. There’s nothing wrong with putting Chat out of the picture. This is what she wanted all along,

 

Besides. How was she supposed to know he was going to react like this? Chat’s the drama queen here, falling to the ground like that, de-transforming. Any second now he’ll pop right up and apologize for scaring them both.

 

She composes herself in seconds. Shrugs and grins. “Wasn’t my fault.” She says. “He was in the way.” 

 

Ladybug doesn’t reply. She’s launched herself at the Akuma instead. 

 

The battle is over in minutes. Ladybug shouts the angriest  **_Lucky Charm_ ** Queen Bee’s ever had the displeasure of hearing and chucks a toaster at The Akuma, distracting him just long enough to steal his scepter. Then she turns to Queen Bee. And scowls.

 

If Ladybug didn’t have an Akuma to purify, Queen Bee is certain she’d have killed her by now. 

  
She doesn’t even stick around to find out.


	8. Why Would I Ever Want to Be Friends With You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd world's slowest updater goes to....
> 
> Sorry guys, trust me when I say that if all goes as planned, the next chapter will be up in a few days.

 

* * *

_  
_ _Did you miss me when I left every night? Or were you just as relieved as I was to be gone._

* * *

 

The rest of the Gala members trickle into the hotel a little later. Some are on their phones, calling for rides. Some have collapsed onto some of the chairs in the lobby, One woman whips out a flask from beneath her skirt and starts chugging.

 

Chloé’s a little surprised to see Adrien among all the chaos actually. She gives him a little wave, squeals his name, and rushes over to hug him, but he pushes her off. “Not now Chloé.” He says.

 

There are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he’s about to collapse.

 

“Alright.” She says, and pouts. “Fine then.” It’s a little ungrateful considering she’s probably just saved his life, but whatever. It isn’t his fault he’s ignorant. (Maybe she should tell him? He’d probably stop hanging around that Marinette all the time.)

 

She lets him stumble off and he disappears behind some pillar and she’s left standing in the middle of the lobby wondering if she should go to bed. It’s pretty late. He’s probably too tired to think straight.

 

_Yeah…_ she thinks. _We’re bestfriends aren’t we? Why_ wouldn’t _he want to see me!_

 

She sees Sabrina and waves. Watches the girl run over to her and collapse onto the ground from pure exhaustion, her hand mere inches from Chloé’s skirt. She kicks her away with a scowl and walks away, her face burning from embarrassment. Sabrina’s out cold and snoring up a storm. She probably doesn’t feel a thing.

 

She sees Lila and her smile drops into a grimace.  She doesn’t wave, but Lila does and when Chloé won’t turn, cups her hands around her mouth and yells: “Long Live The King- huh?”

 

And Chloé’s blood runs cold.

* * *

 

Chloé pretty much forgets her nightmares when she wakes up in the morning, save for a few snippets here and there. She thinks they involved hives and being mauled by a thousand tiny foxes. Her dreams don’t appear to be very subtle. It’s not something she's overly concerned about at the moment, she decides, treating the black circles under her eyes with a heavy layer of concealer. (It’s not very successful. Maybe if the rest if her makeup is on point, no one will notice?)

 

Besides. They’re just dreams. It’s not like they mean anything anyways.

 

Chloé gives her eye a few last touches before grabbing her purse and heading downstairs. She considers adding a few tears, but she’s recently switched mascaras and she doesn’t know for sure if it will run as effectively as she’s hoping it will. Besides, there’s really no point in ruining a perfectly good makeup job when her daddy will drop everything just to make sure she’s happy.

 

_Only the best._ She thinks and has to stop herself from smirking when she steps inside the elevator.

 

“Have a nice day at school , Miss Bourgeois.” Monsieur Moustache says, and smiles. She grins back. She’s always been a little fond of him.

 

“Oh, I’m not going today.” She says. “Last night was just too stressful for me. I’m afraid I’ll have to take the day off.”

 

Monsieur Moustache gives a small cough. “My apologies Miss Bourgeois, but I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

 

What?

 

“Why...not?”Her eyebrow twitches and she manages a small smile- although her hands have gripped her purse tight enough to tear it in two.

 

“I’m under strict orders from your father-”

 

Chloé gives a short laugh. “You must be joking.” She says,and  grins widely, flipping her hair back.

 

“Miss Bourgeois-” He starts again, but she cuts him off. Again.

 

“Anyways I can’t. I’m much too traumatized to even think about going. How will I even think about concentrating- huh?”

 

“Miss Bourgeois,” He says, waiting a second to see if she’ll interrupt before continuing. “Your father was quite adamant in his decision and considering the ah, _events_ of last night I suggest you don’t provoke him.”

 

The elevator dings and the door slides open and she almost swears she sees sympathy flash in his eyes with that thin-lipped smile. “Have a nice day, Miss Bourgeois.” He says, pausing at the doors. “I’ll have the car pick you up in half an hour.”

* * *

 

The rest of Chloé’s morning is just as bad.

  
  
For starters, it’s devastatingly bright out, and it makes her furious because she’s gone and forgotten her old shades, and although she notices the second she steps outside, Monsieur Moustache has slid himself in between the door and her driver and won’t let her pass, so she’s stuck using her back up pair. (The ones with the slightly scratched lenses that were on sale awhile back. The old ones.)

  
  
“It’s your fault if I go blind.” She says, but he just shrugs and gives her a thin smile.

  
  
“Orders are orders.” He says.

 

  
She huffs and stomps the five feet to the car. It’s painful for everyone to watch. She’s certain of it.

  
  
Her driver smiles at her and asks her how her morning was, and she growls at him and tells him to step on it. He asks her if she wants the radio on, and she throws a tube of lipstick at his head.  He doesn’t say a word after that. Just slides the screen up and adjusts his mirrors.

  
  
Good. She thinks. I didn’t like looking at your stupid haircut anyways.

  
  
After a terribly long drive, the car slides in front of _Collège Françoise Dupont_ and she gets out, making sure to slam the door. She’s almost a little disappointed that it didn’t break.

  
  
Actually no. That’s a lie. She’s furious that it didn’t. She wishes it had snapped in two or crumpled or something. Anything better than just closing.

  
  
Chloé stomps her way through the hall and into Mme Bustier classroom like a typhoon of lipgloss and mascara, shoving aside some idiot kid who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. His sketchbook flies everywhere and she crushes a mechanical pencil beneath her feet without a moment's hesitation.  She knows him somewhere- he’s in her classes. Nathan. She thinks. No- Nathanaël. Why should she care? He’s the moron who thought he could just loiter around the hall without consequences.

  
  
He flinches when she looks at him. It’s strangely satisfying.

  
  
Everyone else is staring at her too and she finds herself grinning. It’s about damn time something went her way.

  
  
“I didn’t think you’d be in school today.” Whispers Sabrina, when she sits down. “Don’t worry though, I did your homework anyways.”

 

  
“I wasn’t.” She says almost bored. Sabrina hands her a bunch of papers and she almost misses it, because she’s too busy staring at Adrien who’s just walked in.

  
  
He looks fine, actually, those dark circles under his eyes seem to have faded pretty well, and it sounds like he’s telling some stupid pun to Nino.

  
  
No wait. That’s just concealer. And now he’s falling asleep.

  
  
She wonders if he’s still mad and starts to stand, but then Mme Bustier starts listing names and she has to sit down.

 

* * *

 

The girl’s bathroom is empty when she walks in. She makes sure of course- asking Sabrina to peer into all the stalls before kicking her out and locking herself in. Sabrina doesn’t question it.  Years of social conditioning on Chloé’s part have taught her to smile and nod over and over again, and today is clearly not an exception.

 

It isn’t wrong for her to want a little privacy after all. She’s _traumatized_ \- remember?

 

Chloé pulls a tube of lipgloss out of her purse and tosses the handbag in the sink. There’s a loud squeak.  

 

_Wonder who that could be?_

 

“Well that was a little rude.”  Says Zeezle indignantly,  who’s already crawled out of Chloé’s purse.

 

“Oh please.” She says and pouts in the mirror. Stunning as usual but who’s counting? “Everyone adores me. Now- should I go nudes or something with a little more pop? I coordinated my eyeshadow with my outfit this morning but it’s almost gym and if I’m gonna have to wear gym shorts, I should look absolutely perfect.”

 

There’s a knock on the door and she throws down her lipgloss.

 

“Occupied, she says- practically singing- and reaches for her compact.

The door rattles again. Louder this time and almost violent. Something about it makes her a little uneasy and she finds herself sharing a look with Zeezle who’s suddenly gone still. She wonders if it is an akuma. Just like them to not give her a break. (She swears she remembers the name of the man controlling them. Something to do with butterflies? Birds? Not having a life?)

 

"I said it's occupied. What-are you stupid or something? Go somewhere else!" The compact snaps in two. She hadn't realized she was gripping it so hard.

 

Oh well. She- she needed a new one anyways.

 

There's silence. She waits and she waits for there to be footsteps or an apology or something but there's nothing

 

Nothing but quiet.

 

She's not sure if she should be happy or scared out of her mind.

 

Chloé breaths a sigh of relief anyways, and pulls out some mascara. Nothing to worry about.

 

Don't know why you were so worked about to begin with. She says to herself.

 

I mean it's not like you can't take care of yourself or anything. At this rate, you'll have premature wrinkles before you graduate.

 

And then the door clicks.

 

And it swings open.

 

And in walks Volpina.

 

Actually no- it's Lila, but with the look she's shooting Chloé, it might as well be.

  
She struts right into the sink and plops her purse down and sends her a smug smile, her eyes glinting like a fox.   
Like she didn't just barge into a locked room. Or send her a bajillion cryptic text messages last night.

  
  
“I think…” Says Lila, whipping out a tube of obnoxiously orange lipstick. “The two of us are going to be very good friends.”

  
  
Chloé stares at her. Then at the tube of lipstick in Lila’s hand. No wonder she thought of Volpina.  Bright lips… pleather crop jacket over an orange and white dress… It’s like she’s dedicating her whole wardrobe to look like her.   
  
How could anyone be this…this…

  
  
Pitiful? Sickening? Hilarious?

 

  
It’s so sad she has to laugh. Like god, what a loser. _I can’t believe you were afraid of her- her of all people._

  
  
“You have got to be kidding me.”  She says, her face turning red- brighter than that stupid lipstick Lila’s smeared all over her face. (Isn’t she hilarious? If she wasn’t so fucking gorgeous she would consider being a comedian.) “Why would I ever want to be friends with you?”

  
  
Lila’s turning pretty red herself, and she looks like she’s fighting off a few tears because honestly can this girl get any more sad? “You- you won’t be saying that for long.” She says, trying to smile. 

  
Chloé stiffles another laugh. “Oh really?” If only Sabrina were here. Then they could really get this party started.

  
  
Lila’s fumbling around in her purse- practically dumping its contents onto the counter. A tube of mascara rolls away and falls onto the floor. It’s the cheap stuff. She probably bought it at a corner store.   
  
She can’t take this. She’s going to die in this bathroom from laughing.

 

“Look.” Says Lila, practically shoving her cellphone in Chloé’s face. It’s a blurry picture of Queen Bee, standing in that boutique from yesterday.

  
  
Chloé pulls a tissue from her purse, and picks up the phone gingerly. “All I see…” She says, slowly so Lila can understand her. “Is a beautiful and confident superhero looking fantastic in spandex.” 

  
Lila grins that fox smile from before, except now that she isn’t a threat it just looks like a failed attempt at a self-assured smirk. She raises her index finger and swipes to the side.   
  
It’s a video. A video of her actually.   
  
Not Queen Bee, her, well not yet but a very blurry Chloé, running through the black and white hall of the _Collège._

  
  
The audio’s grainy and practically drowning under smooth jazz, but Lila’s turned it up loud enough that it practically echoes.  Besides. There’s no mistaking that it’s her voice, or that it’s her body transforming there.   
  
“Wow, Chloé or should I say… _Honey Bee_. Really be a shame if this was broadcasted to the entire student body.”

  
  
“Okay first of all, it’s Queen Bee.” Says Chloé. “ And second of all- so? The entire city of Paris knowing I was their savior?”

 

  
She grabs her purse and plucks the orange lipstick from Lila’s fingertips with another tissue. Then, she chucks it into one of the toilets. Bullseye.

  
  
“You’ll regret this!” Lila says, no screams. “What will everyone else think once they figure out their so called hero akumatized her own father?”

  
  
Chloé pauses at the door, and turns to stare at her, watching the tears and snot drip from Lila’s sad, scrunched up face. “Please.” She says, smirking sardonically. “Everyone adores me."


	9. Wrong For All The Right Reasons (Or is it the other way around?)

Wrong For All The Right Reasons (Or is it the other way around?)

 

* * *

 

I tried every measure I could to escape you. To escape him.

Hours I would spend wandering the streets, wishing I had the guts to catch a train or haul a cab and never get off.

And then one day I found a box with my name on it. And things changed. Funny how the smallest things can have the greatest impact.

 

* * *

 

Chloé skips patrol that night and takes a well deserved soak instead, lying back in a bubble bath with the Ladyblog’s video broadcasts on full blast and a dish of imported sashimi. The entire time Zeezle sulks. but she’s been doing it so often, Chloé doesn’t even go so far as to blink. Besides. She sees Zeezle slip into the bath ten minutes later so she can’t be too mad. And that handful of soft pretzel bits doesn’t seem to be making things worse.

“Tomorrow you need to apologize for sure.” Says Zeezle, trying to keep her small head over all the suds. 

“For what?” Chloé asks innocently. (As if she’s ever anything but.) “Saving the day?” 

“Gee I don’t know. For shooting your team mate?” 

The water’s growing cold. Then again so is Zeezle’s attitude so maybe she should get ready for bed. “Please.” She says, standing up and reaching for a bathrobe. “That was an accident. And he totally deserved it so it’s not like I did anything wrong.”

She pulls the plug and the water goes swirling down, leaving a bunch of rose petals to stick to the sides. And of course, Zeezle, sitting in the middle and looking quite red.

“Besides.” She adds, wrapping her hair up in a towel. “Maybe he should apologize to me- huh? It’s not my fault he’s jealous.” 

“I love how you are ignoring the fact that you literally shot him in the back!” Says Zeezle, apparently having completely lost any chill she might’ve retained.

Chloé just shrugs, and turns off the light. “He’ll get over it.” She says.

“You shot him in the back.” Says Zeezle, slowly like she’s some dumb kid. “You literally betrayed him.”

“Please. He’ll get over it. It’s what he does.” 

 

* * *

 

Paris is quiet.

Not literally. Paris is never completely silent. It’s always been alive, from the rosy tips of dawn to the deep hours of night. Laughing and singing and bustling. Queen Bee’s been to other parts of France,  smaller parts , and it’s different there. Quieter. softer. Boring. There’s a reason Paris is the capital of the fashion world and it’s not because of how scenic it it.

No- Paris is quiet in a different sort of way. Mostly because it’s ten at night, and Queen Bee’s perched on the Eiffel Tower and she’s alone. 

Sure there are tourists. There are always tourist. All loud and annoying and tacky, with their terrible taste in shoes and selfie sticks.  (She could have all the money in the world and she still couldn’t afford to buy them all better wardrobes. Then again, why would she? It isn’t her fault they are too stupid to think that sandles and socks should be separate.)

Queen Bee waits for an hour and Ladybug doesn’t come.

Not her or that dumb cat. (Funny. She was just talking about tacky.) 

It’s eleven at night and she is extremely cold and extremely bored, and neither of the so called lucky duo have bothered to even show up. So needless to say she’s also extremely frustrated.

She takes a selfie at the top of the tower and messes around with the filters for a little before tacking on a flower crown and a few teardrops to set the mood. Then she posts it on her blog, and gives up.

“It’s not my fault.” She says to Zeezle, after she transforms. “And it’s not like they bothered to show up.”

Zeezle says nothing. She’s been pouty ever since that bath she took. The one with the glitter bomb and the rose petals.

Chloé doesn’t mind though. She likes it this way. No nagging, no complaining. Just silence. Now, the only voice Chloé has to listen to is her own.

Queen Bee tries again the next night. 

Ten at night on the Eiffel Tower, where she’s supposed to meet them, except she waits half an hour and they don’t bother to show up.

It’s extremely hypocritical. Always making a big deal about punctuality and responsibility and not bothering to show up? Way to set an example guys. 

Once again Queen Bee goes home. She doesn’t bother to show up the next day. Not when there’s no point.

 

* * *

 

Over the next few days, there’s only one thing that really stands out, and that’s the fact that Lila is avoiding her.

She doesn’t notice it at first- she’s never really cared for her much to begin with so it’s not like she had a choice or something, but there’s no mistaking it. Where Chloé goes, Lila does not. She clears the hallways the second Chloé walks in, moves her seat her the other end of the room and ducks down when she so much as looks at her. 

Still, Chloé can feel her glances from the corner of her eye, those strange glances and hushed whispers. Meaningless gossip. Spread by losers who are too cowardly to stir up some drama of themselves. She hears her own name several times too, that and Akuma, bitch, and father. Over and over again. 

It makes her tingly just hearing about it.

She can’t help but grin as she whips around, watching Lila turn bright red and hiding behind her copy of The Little Prince. She looks a little like a tomato when she does this. A tomato with poor fashion taste. Honestly whats with all that orange anyways? Orange tights, orange skirt, orange shoes, and that stupid phony miraculous she has wrapped around her stupid little neck.

She’s seen the way Lila stares at her comb, the way her fingers twitch. She’s practically lusting over it.

Chloé shoots Lila a smug smile and flips her hair back. “Jealous?” She mouths and Lila turns even redder than before. Her hand shoots up and before Mme Bustier can properly excuse her, she’s run out the door. There are tears in her eyes. She never must have learned how to properly sob.

Chloé however, has mastered the art of crying beautifully. She wouldn’t have needed to leave the room because she would have milked it for all she had. Then again…. Things have always gone fairly easy for her. With great talent comes great power and all that.

Minutes later there’s a ding on her phone and she almost jumps for joy.

It’s a link, sent by that same number from before, long live the king and all that bullshit. 

She wonders if it’s a virus, then shrugs and writes down the url before deleting the text. “Hand me your phone.” She says and Sabrina nods and shoots her a smile. All too eager to please. She’s said it before and she’ll say it again.

This entire school must be filled with idiots. There really should be some sort of test to weed all the stupid out. How else are students like her supposed to flourish? 

Anyways she types it in and waits for it to load, because Sabrina’s too poor for decent internet and a better than average phone and saying her service is slow would be underestimating things, and almost falls out of her chair when she figures out what it is.

A hate site. For Queen Bee. 

The whole thing is covered in comic sans and red font. Page after page after page of blurry photographs, and rants and statistics, she almost wants to laugh. Actually no, she does. And very loudly too.  

Like, how’s she supposed to even take Lila seriously when she does things like this?

‘Pest or Protector? The real secret behind Honey Bee?’   Who does she think she is? Like, leave the reporting to the professionals my dear.

What. A. Loser. 

She’s not even sure why she even considered Lila a threat to begin with.

It’s like she wants to be a laughing stock. 

She deletes the page from Sabrina’s browsing history and bookmarks it herself. Then she saves the contact as ‘Lila’. 

She’s not entirely sure why. At the very least she’ll be good on entertainment for the next month.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week, sans the incident with Lila, is frustratingly peaceful. Suspiciously peaceful really.

XY releases a new album and she buys it the day it comes out. Zeezle starts speaking to her again. Lila’s hate blog is disappointingly quiet.

Things are as they should be. No having to save Paris, no having to worry over whether or not Chat will get in her way, no bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Like she hadn’t been given her miraculous in the first place. Like Paris had only two superheroes instead of three.

Whoever this ‘Hawkmoth’ is, he must be an absolute sadist. 

Her life might be lollypops and fucking rainbows, but everyone else's sure isn’t. She makes sure of it, going out of her way to be the absolute worst to anyone who so much as breaths next to her. Not so discreetly handing out bottles of mouthwash and deodorant to the kid in gym, tripping girls in the hall, pushing people out of her way and cutting in line. She makes students ugly cry- like actually break down in tears and everything.

She’s sending a message, sending signals straight to the fashion disaster himself, that if he doesn’t start something up soon she’ll make an akuma all on her own. 

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” Says Zeezle. “You can’t do this. It isn’t right.” She says something else about responsibility too, but Chloé blocks her off. It’s become like second nature. She’s been ignoring other people’s opinions for as long as she can remember. Why would today be any different.

Finally, monday morning the next week, someone cracks. And it’s sure as hell not pretty. 

She’s in the hallway, having just gotten back from lunch and some idiots running around in a bright green bodysuit shouting about not so final grades and forcing students to curl into a ball and cry. He whips around when he sees her and hisses “you”, because despite the fact she has never seen this boy in her life, she’s pretty famous at this point. She shoots him a smirk. Then makes a break for it.

Despite her previous protests over Chloé’s so called ‘less than ethical standards’, Zeezle doesn’t bother complaining when Chloé shouts to transform. It’s a nice change of pace. Maybe she’ll keep it up.

And Queen Bee’s on the scene in seconds.

Mister I Don’t Want To Fail laughs when he sees her. “What- are you the spelling bee?” He asks and she whips out her stinger and shoots him in the chest. He staggers back before ripping the dart out. 

“What- are you like the world’s biggest nerd?” Queen Bee says, and shoots another one.

“You…  bitch !” He screams. It seems to be her nickname. Maybe instead of Queen Bee, she should go as “Queen Bitch”?

“Whoops.” She says,checking her nails to see if they’re as flawless as ever, (they are, she’s not sure why she even doubted herself)  but he has already slumped unconscious to the floor. She frowns and gives him a kick, before pulling out her stinger and shooting the rest of them. She’s given Ladybug five minutes to find the akuma. If this doesn’t say, ‘I am more capable than Chat Noir will ever be’, she doesn’t know what will. 

Queen Bee turns around and claps the dust from her hands. Then finds a good place to wait for Ladybug and her pet cat. The wait is shorter than she expects. She must be lucky today. (See? She can make jokes too! It’s like everything he does is replaceable.)   
  
She gives the Akuma one final kick to make sure he’s down for the count, then waves and runs over to pull Ladybug into a hug. She’s able to get at least three seconds before Ladybug pushes her off. It must be a new record for her. Today is just full of good things.   
  
“I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here after what you did.” Growls Ladybug.   
  
Queen Bee’s miraculous starts beeping. She’ll just have to make this quicker than five minutes.   
  
“What are you talking about?” Says Queen Bee, but her grin’s faltering. She brushes herself off, and puts a hand on her hip, making sure the effort is as seamless as she can make it. “Oh that? Don’t tell me you’re still hung over that little accident from the other night?”   
  
“You compromised everything! You shot Chat in the back!”   
  
Queen Bee starts to laugh, but something in Ladybug’s eyes forces her to stop.  “It was an accident.” She says. Flips her hair back in an attempt to appear confident. “It’s not like he was that important to begin with. No big deal- right?”

She tries laughing again and gives up.”Right?”

Ladybug looks like she wants to punch her.  Hell, she looks like she just might. “How dare you say that about Chat. He’s a valuable-”

Please. She did not just defeat an akuma for Ladybug to hear her drone on and on about that dumb cat.  

“Valuable?” Says Queen Bee, actually having to stifle a laugh this time.“Valuable? Can Chat knock an Akuma unconscious? Can Chat rock a pair of heels?” Please. Chat Noir’s some dead brained, lovestruck  idiot who can barely keep himself safe, let alone you. I’d make a much better partner and you know it.” Her miraculous beeps again in her hair, but she’s got another three minutes and she’s on a roll.  

Meanwhile Ladybug looks redder than her suit. It’s a little satisfying to watch, she’s not going to lie.

“The truth hurts doesn’t it?” Queen Bee says, a few seconds later.  

“How did you of all people get a miraculous?” Says Ladybug. Her nose is wrinkling. She looks cute when she’s mad. “You’re just like Chlo- that girl from the other day who akumatized her dad. Do you really believe you did nothing wrong?”

How. Fucking, Dare. Her. After all she’s done for her, after every time she's put herself in harm's way so she can leave and this? This is how Ladybug repays her?

Things are growing fuzzy. Black spots and all that. She’s vaguely aware of her miraculous beeping, of her hands balling into fists, of her body shaking with anger and pain and sadness and a trillion other emotions she doesn’t even know the names of.

“I-  that girl  didn’t akumatize her-”

She tries to talk, she really does. She has a million things she wants to shout, a thousand and one comebacks, all better then the last.  Anything would be better than this.

“How dare- I don’t need you, you need me- I deserve better- I…”

She lunges at Ladybug, she really does, her hands going for Ladybug’s earrings, because she’s if she’s going to accuse Queen Bee of not deserving a miraculous, maybe she doesn’t deserve one herself. She thinks she’s crying,  ugly crying with snot dripping and hiccuping and those choky sobs that wimps like Lila and Sabrina do. 

People like Queen Bee don’t cry like that. People like Queen Bee are too strong, too confident, too perfect.

Her attack falls short and she stumbles to the ground. She stands up again, her hands already balled into fists ,but her miraculous is beeping and it snaps her out of it. “This isn’t over.” She says, “I’ll show you. I’ll show you both.”

And Queen Bee runs before she can change her mind.

 

* * *

 

That night, when Chloé checks the hate blog, she notices her argument from last night has been recorded and posted, with stupid links to the Ladyblog and half assed theories written in frustratingly red comic sans.

She throws her phone against the wall, before pulling her covers over her head and curling into a very tight and very safe ball. 

It’s too late for this bullshit.The screen shatters. She can hear it crash to the floor.

 

“Screw her.” She mutters. “Everyone adores me.” But for the first time in her significantly spoiled existence, she’s not so sure if it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's the second longest so far and it really should have been combined with the last. I'm hoping the next one will be up in a few days, but because things... (progressed that weren't supposed to yet? I mean I like where it's heading now a lot better than before so it's kinda irrelevant) changed, the next chapter might be a lot longer than I think it will so it might be more like Friday or Saturday. Either way, if all goes as planned, we'll be halfway done by the time this month is over.


	10. I Would Key Your Car if We Were Both Old Enough to Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The driving age for France is 18.

* * *

 

_ We met each other on the worst of terms, she and I.  _

 

_ Two people hiding away in towers, one with the means to run about, the other content to pull her strings and determined to snap mine.  _

 

_ It was a different kind of love. The thrill of a chase, a fox and her moth. _

* * *

 

“You need to get out of bed eventually.”

 

…

 

“It’s almost noon- you’ve missed half the day.”

 

…

 

“Chloé!”

 

She’s aware of something very small, and very annoying pressing against her side. It tugs on her blankets, and pulls on her pillows, but Chloé has built herself a fort of solitude and she refused to leave. It’s safe in here. Ladybug doesn’t hate her here.

 

“You can’t stay in there forever.” Says Zeezle, and Chloé rolls over. Blocks her off with her sheets.

 

“I can’t go to school today.” She mumbles and fakes a cough. It’s unbelievable even to her. “I’m calling in sick.”

 

She turns over and pulls her blanket tighter, sending Zeezle tumbling until she hits the ground with a soft oomf. 

 

“It’s been three days.” Says Zeezle. “You can’t keep doing this. You have a responsibility to Paris!”

 

“Please.” She says, but finds herself sitting up anyways. “I don’t have a responsibility to anyone.” She rolls out of bed and onto the floor. It hurts a little and makes her bones ache a bit when she actually gets around to standing, but it’s a good kind of pain. Like ripping off a band aide. 

She stumbles over to the balcony and almost has an aneurysm right then and there. There are dark circles smudged under her eyes and her hair looks like it’s been attacked by a rabid dog. She gives her breath a quick sniff and recoils. 

 

She smells like sweat and salt and dead fish. It’s not a pretty combination. Almost as imperfect as Ladybug sees her.    
  


No. 

 

She’s not getting into that right now. She doesn’t need that kind of negativity. Not when she just woke up.

 

“I’m going to go take a shower.” She mumbles. “What day is it?”

 

“Monday.” Says Zeezle, being surprisingly helpful for once. “Ish.”

 

Great. She’s always hated mondays. Well the day’s halfway over. She might as well get some shopping done. She gives another look in the mirror at her disappointingly less than stellar reflection. Or maybe a spa appointment. Or five.

 

She sighs and calls someone to draw her a bath. 

 

This is going to take some work.

* * *

  
  


Chloé can’t remember her dreams. 

 

She’s never been able to. Not all the way. Just snippets and feelings and the vague notion of being superior to everyone one else, which isn’t usually new but always sort of true. Or it used to. She’s not so sure if it’s true anymore.

 

She thinks about this when she steps into her bath. Thinks about the last dream she had, thinks it had something to do with crying and running and being told she’s worthless. Thinks it involved Ladybug too, but most of her dreams usually involve her.  

 

Just thinking about it all makes her blood boil and she sinks into her bath to stew a little bit and avoid throwing things. Her daddy still hasn’t replaced her phone from when she threw it against her wall, and she’s a little afraid he’ll buy her generic shampoo if she breaks her good stuff. It makes her even angrier than before. She crumples a bath bomb in her hands instead. It turns the bath water pink and glittery.

 

“Now’s probably not the time to say this…” Says Zeezle, who has made herself comfy on one of Chloé’s towels. “ But I refuse to coddle you anymore then I have!”

 

Coddle? Thinks Chloé and snorts. The only thing close to coddling, Zeezle has ever done is letting her mope around these past few days. And she’s pretty sure she would have done that with or without Zeezle’s constant need to nag.

 

“Now, I’m sorry Ladybug hates your guts or whatever, but you really should apologize.”

 

Chloé slinks lower into the bath. “Why?” She says, although it comes out as a bunch of bubbles instead. “Why?” She says again, sitting up this time. “Why should I?”

 

She’s had this conversation before and it’s not something she’s in the mood for now, so she reaches over and fumbles around for a remote and blasts some XY instead. She closes her eyes, and lets it wash over her. Usually she’s found his mindless techno relaxing, but she’s still in a bad mood and it makes her skin itch. So she turns it off instead.

 

She presses a button and a screen slides out. She turns on some reality tv instead. 

 

“You can’t keep ignoring me.” Says Zeezle. (God, why does her voice have to be so shrill?) 

 

She turns the volume up. Mouth’s ‘watch me.’ 

 

Stares intently at the pair of middle aged women slapping each other on screen, one of them dripping in wine. 

 

_ Gotta love American television _ , she thinks, and smiles thinly.

 

“Fine.” Says Zeezle, softer this time (or maybe the tv’s just loud). “Call me when you’re done pouting.”

 

* * *

 

Her show finishes and she rinses the last of the conditioner from her hair, before wrapping a towel around her waist and flopping headfirst onto her bed. She sort of stares at her sheets for a bit, until it hits her what they are of, and she sits up all of a sudden and pushes herself away. She’d forgotten.

 

A few months ago, she’d bought ladybug sheets and matching pillowcases, bright, bright red with the hero’s signature black spots. Before they made her feel safe and powerful. Now she wishes she had a knife so she can tear them to shreds. She’ll tell someone to burn them later. Maybe buy something better. Yellow and black and fuzzy. Like Queen Bee. Like the colors a hero should be.

 

_ That’s it.  _ She thinks.  _ That’ll show her. That’ll prove her wrong.  _

 

“Zeezle?” She asks, twisting her still-wet hair into a bun and sticking her comb into place.  **_“Transform me.”_ **

 

Either she’s too confused, or maybe doesn’t feel like arguing, but Zeezle says nothing. Just lets herself get swept away, without a complaint. Gee. Sure would be nice if every transformation was like this. (She’s feeling a little better already. It must be working.)

 

One way or another, she’s Queen Bee in seconds, and it feels fantastic. 

 

She must have forgotten how great it feels to be her.

* * *

 

Either Ladybug’s the world’s biggest coward, or she’s in class, because Queen Bee doesn’t see her at all. It’s kind of nice, actually.

 

Really nice.

 

Maybe she’s admiring from afar or whatever. Maybe she just can’t face the fact that Queen Bee’s so much better than her. That she took down Chat, she could take down her too, no problem. 

 

What makes her a hero anyways? Because she runs around in red and black spandex? 

Because she  _ saves  _ people? Queen Bee does that a thousand times better, and her color scheme is  _ twice  _ as fashionable. Stripes always were better than spots. Shame it’s taking the world forever to realize this.

 

Next chance she gets she’ll have to shoot her. What’s the point of having darts strapped to her hip if she can’t use them-huh? Akumas be damned and all that.

 

Maybe it’s the height, or maybe it’s the fact that she hasn’t actually done much these past few days, but she can’t exactly feel her legs right now. 

 

Or maybe, it’s the rage. Rage and humiliation.

 

She lands on a balcony and slumps painfully against it’s door.  _ Stupid Ladybug.  _ She thinks. Stupid, stupid Ladybug, refusing to listen, acting like it’s her fault. Like she meant to hit Chat.

 

Queen Bee picks up a piece of brick and bounces it in her hand. Then she throws it at a building. It chips the wall a little there. She must be stronger.

 

_ So what if I did?  _ She thinks. Putting it into words makes her stomach twist a little bit. She’s so high up… must be the fear. Has she always been this weird about hights? _ It’s not like he doesn't deserve it. Always following around, getting in the way. _

 

“Besides.” She says, feeling a lot like her old self again. “That was forever ago. Not my fault she can’t get over it.” 

 

She stands up and kicks another bit of brick. It hits a car and dings the paint job. Not enough to be noticed- unless you’re really looking for it, but there’s definitely a scratch. It’s some kind of luxury sports car too, bright candy red and almost as shiny as her comb, the kind very old men use to overcompensate. She would know- her father has ten, all nice and pretty as this one and she’s almost certain he would die if anything happened to any of them. It makes her feel pretty powerful too, staring down at that imperfect paint job.

 

She should key Ladybug’s car… Or slash her tires… Or even steal her stereo… Or really all three. 

 

Because nothing says I hate you like destroying your sports car.

 

Does Ladybug even drive? Can Ladybug even drive? How old is Ladybug anyways?  16? 17? 

 

There was an episode of the Ladyblog where Alya found a textbook so she can’t be much older than Queen Bee is. And she might not pay a whole lotta attention in class, but she could have sworn that textbook was specific to their school and their school alone. Something about a textbook test run? Their teacher practically fainted when they first came out, raving on and on about history and future generations and shit. The specifics are fairly unclear. She had other more glamorous things to worry about than some stupid new textbook.

 

Still…

 

Lila had been going on and on about exposing her identity to the world… would it really be so wrong to do the same? And doesn’t the world  _ deserve  _ to know who’s been saving it this entire time? She’d be doing the world a social service really. Providing her heroly duties and all that.

 

And it’s only fair. Ladybug knows her identity, why shouldn’t she know hers? Not to mention both members of the lucky duo have probably already exchanged their information, plus facts and addresses and phone numbers. Why shouldn’t their beloved former teammate slash best hero ever be given the same information.

 

Help a fellow hero out or whatever. 

 

Queen Bee gives a long sigh and starts to stand. 

 

There’s only one other person besides her who could ever even consider knowing the identity of Ladybug, and she’s not even sure if she likes Queen Bee enough to bother helping her out.

 

Hell, it might even be easier to give up on revenge altogether.

* * *

  
  


Queen Bee leans against the side of the school and waits for class to end, pulling on her hair and fiddling on her thumbs and all that.

 

Chloé has never really had to be patient before, everything handed on a silver platter mere minutes before she could even ask for that has guaranteed that for her, and as fantastic as Queen Bee is there’s no way for it to be any different. 

 

It would be nice if it was a half day, or an akuma attacked or something equally as fantastic as that, but there’s no way she’s that lucky. Not when Ladybug’s gone and stolen all of her luck away, good or bad. Or maybe that was her miraculous’s doing. She hadn’t considered it could ever be a curse. 

 

Wow. She must really be bored if this is what she comes to. She gets bored so easily these days. Who knew being a superhero was so… dull…

 

Maybe she should transform and come back later.

 

Maybe. But then she would never come back now would she?

The world actually decides to cooperate for once, and the doors are flung open and out comes a hoard of kids running like there’s shoes on sale or the demons of hell are after them or something equally urgent. Like she should be terrified or something. She watches them lazily, and waits for the crowd to thin. Their class has always been the last to leave. Why should today be any different? 

 

She sees a few familiar faces, sees Lila who sees her and manages to both flinch in terror and shoot her the dirtiest look Queen Bee’s ever had the displeasure of seeing, while daintily lifting up her middle finger to flip her off. 

 

Queen Bee scowls at her. She’s tempted to shoot her the bird back, but sees Lila pull out her smartphone and point the camera at her, so she gives a small little wave instead and smiles sarcastic. She’d give a little giggle to if the idea didn’t make her sick.  They stay that way for a good five minutes, Lila with that dumb camera, and Queen Bee with that fake smile and batting eyelashes until that klutz Marinette trips on air and almost falls on Lila. There’s some talking and some gesturing and it looks like Marinette is apologizing and Lila’s pointing and suddenly Marinette’s looking up and they’re staring each other in the eye.

 

_ God what’s her problem? _

 

She freezes. She’s not sure why, she just does. Meanwhile Marinette’s eyes have grown wide and her mouth has grown tight, and the way her hands have already curled into fists it looks like she wants to fight. There’s something about it that’s painfully familiar too. She can’t quite put her finger on it. It just seems so wrong.

 

She’s actually sort of thankful to see Alya, because it forces Marinette to tear away and gives Queen Bee time to duck out of sight and catch up her breath because holy shit that was intense. It’s like she forgot how to function there. 

 

She peeks over, ready to flatten from her vantage point on the roof if Marinette so much as looks at her, but is a little frustrated to see that the three of them are now walking away. 

 

How could she forget Alya and Marinette were friends? The two are practically inseparable. 

 

This really puts a damper on things. Especially with Lila there, poisoning their minds with lies about Queen Bee, probably getting them to subscribe to her hate site, makes her sick just thinking about it. 

 

Clearly they’re going to walk home together and do their homework together and talk about oh- she doesn’t know, boys or fashion or something. Maybe they’ll fangirl over Ladybug together. That’s what poor girls like Marinette do. It’s not like she has super powers or can drive herself around or something. 

 

There’s really only one thing to do and that’s follow them home. Because it’s not like she has any other plans or better things to do like go shopping or something. 

 

She takes a deep breath and slips off the side of the side of the building, practically giving some woman walking her poodle a heart attack. Then, being as stealthy as she can, runs after them.

 

She catches up in minutes. Apparently for someone who’s constantly moving and trembling and foot tapping, Marinette is a slow af walker.  She almost considers going back, and maybe trying again tomorrow.

 

Except she doesn’t. Because she refuses to bow down to Ladybug’s ridiculous reign over something as stupid as being impatient.

 

And besides. They’re already at Marinette’s stupid bakery.

 

She watches from the sidelines and with barely contained rage as Marinette and Alya go inside, as Marinette and Alya say hi to Marinette’s mom, as Marinette and Alya eat macaroons,and  _ finally _ as Marinette and Alya wave good bye to each other. And then to Marinette’s mom. Because apparently neither of them can get enough of that maternal action. It repulses her just watching.

 

Alya waves again, and Queen Bee almost dies a little inside, but then Alya tosses her backpack over her shoulder and grabs  _ another  _ box of macarons for like the road or something, (seriously is that all those two eat or what? There’s gotta be a million calories in just one alone.) before finally just leaving that time vortex of a bakery.

 

Even then, Queen Bee has to wait an eternity again, for Alya to leave eyesight from Marinette, because she’s not sure if she can handle two of them let alone one.

 

And then it’s just the two of them. And Queen Bee swears she’ll stab a bitch if she so much as sees another girl look at Alya again.

 

Queen Bee adjusts her comb and checks her breath, before dropping down into an alley and slipping behind Alya. She wonders if she’s supposed to say something, or if she should wait until she’s noticed. And should she cut straight to the point or build up to it?

 

She’s never done this. And it’s not like she can’t buy it off with money.

 

She takes a deep breath, her blood pounding in her ears from rage or whatever, then smacks on a smile so she doesn’t look like she’s disgusted to be stopping so low. Then she steps back into the shadows. Dramatics are everything.

 

“Hey you’re the girl who runs the Ladyblog aren’t you?” She asks, thankful that her voice doesn’t sound as angry as she feels. She’s had years of experience sucking up with people. Just because it’s Alya doesn’t mean it’s any different.

 

Alya whips around, sending her red dipped curls spinning. (How would Chloé look with barrel curls like that? She’s always been fond of her straight hair, but she’d look extremely cute either way.) “Who’s asking?” She says, her eyes narrowing, in suspicion or sass or anger or something equally unreadable.

 

It’s frustratingly cute. Even if they are hiding behind those dumb hipster glasses. 

 

She’s actually a little nervous now, but the emotion is so not-Queen Bee, she pushes it down and buries it nice and tight where it will never be found. The way things are supposed to be.

 

“Queen Bee.” She says, slipping out of the shadows all stealth-like. She feels like she’s suffocating. Why is this so difficult? So embarrassing? She’s asked for things all her life- there’s no reason why this can’t be the same. “You wanna find out who Ladybug is- right? We should-” Here she tries to swallow a gulp-” _ work _ together.” 

 

Alya raises an eyebrow and slides her hand on her hip. Sizes her up and down, her eyes hesitating on the stinger strapped to her hip. “Why?” She asks, a small smile tugging rebelliously on the side of her mouth. “Why should I help you?”

 

She hesitates. Stares at Alya, stares at her stinger.  _ If she doesn’t agree, I’ll threaten her _ . She thinks and mentally nods. 

 

Except it’s Alya. And the only thing she likes more than superheros and calling people out, is a good story. 

 

Her hands go to her comb and she smiles and cocks her head. “Don’t you want to know about the miraculouses?” She says, and Alya’s eyes grow wide.

 

She’s not even sure if it was worth getting all worked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how this is the longest chapter and not much happens. Sorry guys.


	11. Revenge Is a Dish Best Served With Too Much Sweetener

* * *

 

_ I never knew it was possible to fall for someone I hadn’t ever seen. At that point I never really believed in love. _

 

_ And yet here I was: _

 

_ Falling faster and pining over some invisible stranger who only knew me for the mask I wore, and the things I stole, and the name I hid behind  and all I could do was try not to die before I hit the ground.  Because when it came to her, everything was both literal and metaphorical. And it was impossible to know the difference. _

* * *

 

Queen Bee is disgustingly early. 

 

She has never been early in her life, never been anything but fashionably late or exactly on time, never had the embarrassment of having beaten the host, so to be here  _ this  _ early, and  _ this  _ alone, makes her skin crawl. Because there is no way the old  Chloé would have stood for it.

 

She realizes this the second she steps into the cafe, and checks the time, how she’s standing practically alone wearing a probably spandex bodysuit, and a pair of boots that she could kill a man in. It would be embarrassing if she wasn’t looking extremely cute. Or wasn’t incognito. Even if the fact that her identity is still for the most part pretty much a secret is a mystery to her.

 

Queen Bee sits down at a table outside, and orders a glass of orange juice, and says she’s waiting for someone to the waiter who just smiles and takes her euros without complaint. He brings it out with a glass of water and a few packets of sugar. She eyes it. 

 

“Yeah, I’m going to need more sugar than this.” She says, and smiles widely when the waiter grimaces and pulls out a few more packets. Then a few more. Then ten. 

 

“Is that all?” He says sourly.

 

“For now.” She says. Smiles. “I’m waiting for someone.” She says again. Because why the fuck not.

 

In the meantime she pours a little bit of water in and a whole lot of sugar in, until it’s almost too sweet but is actually just right.

 

And then she waits.

 

_ This is sort of like a date, _ she thinks then brushes it off because it’s nothing like a date and besides even if it was she would rather have it with Adrien than Alya any day of the year.

 

All she wants is Adrien, she reminds herself, except she’s not sure if it’s true any more because she thinks she wanted Ladybug and now all she wants is for her to suffer.

 

It isn’t for long though. 

 

Alya is insanely punctual- unlike her klutz of a friend Marinette (seriously how many absences can you get before they  _ have  _ to expel you?) and she’s there seconds before she’s supposed to, messenger bag thumping gently against her hip. She slides into the seat across, shoots her a smile and pulls out a tablet before propping it gently against the umbrella stand.

 

Queen Bee’s heart rate spikes. There’s no way she should be this nervous. 

 

She must really loath Alya. Why else is she this uncomfortable?

 

_ Let’s get this over with. _ She thinks. Her nails start drumming on the table. It rattles her orange juice. (She swears if it spills and gets all over her suit…)

 

“I figured we could start by cross referencing everyone at the  _ Collège Françoise Dupont, _ since there’s a pretty strong chance she goes there- “

 

“Well?” She interrupts, because Alya’s being boring and wordy and she’s got better things to do. Like not be here. “Did you figure it out or what?”

 

Alya frowns. “ I was getting to that.” She says, and types something up. A window pops on screen showing two columns of names. She presses a key and they start scrolling and highlighting and disappearing off the page. “Anyways, it’s supposed to-”

“Aren’t you going to order something? We  _ are  _ at a cafe.” Says Queen Bee, interrupting again, because she’s changed her mind. She’s supposed to be sucking up to Alya, not scare her off. She used to be so good at this. This is all Ladybug’s fault. She’s made her so awkward. “Come on. I’ll pay.”  _ There’s no way in hell you could afford anything here anyways. _

 

She tries to smile but it comes off weird,sarcastic and strained so she drops it and pulls out a handful of euros instead. “Diabolo menthe, mineral water, whatever.” She says, turns away and raises her hand. “Monsieur!”

 

“Excuse me?” Asks Alya, except she isn’t excused. Not really. 

 

“Coffee is is!” She says. “And don’t worry about the costs. I said I’d pay.” She’s said it twice now actually. She really must be embarrassed to have stooped so low.

 

“Look.” Says Alya, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you want my help or not?”

 

Not really no. What she wants is revenge- plain and simple, but it’s not like she can say it outloud. 

 

But Alya does have a point. If she keeps this up...

 

She sighs. Brushes away the waiter. “Fine.” She says. “Sorry. Cross-referencing names, trying to find out who’s been akumatizes, who hasn’t- right?”

 

Alya nods. Even smiles a little. “Better.” She says. “And I still want something to drink- you can’t take that back, got it?”

* * *

 

Queen Bee gives a sigh of relief when they’re done, and flies out of sight, silently begging for an akuma, a crime spree, something. Anything. She’d even take a flash mob at this point. Still, she’s grateful for the responsibility to patrol if it means getting away from Alya and her questions. Her  _ prodding. _

 

_ It’s all for revenge.  _ She says.  _ It’ll be worth it in the end if I can make Ladybug suffer. _ Except she’s not so sure if she can. Not if Alya keeps giving her nothing. Not if Ladybug keeps avoiding her.

 

A chill runs down her spine, and she turns around and there  _ she _ is, standing balanced perfectly on the edge of a building, her stupid yoyo swinging in her hands.She looks like she wants to hit Queen Bee with it, and the way she’s twirling that yoyo around she very well might.

 

_ Why are you here?  _ She screams.  _ Why don’t you go somewhere else- huh? Fuck you. _

 

Except she can’t seem to say it outloud. Not with all these people. Not when any one of them could be Lila or Alya.

 

They sort of stare at eachother, frozen into place, Queen Bee’s heart hammering in her chest. She hopes Ladybug can’t hear it. She’s not sure if Ladybug can smell fear or not. Or anger for that matter.

 

“What are you doing here?” Says Ladybug, except it comes off as more of a threat. It makes her blood go cold. Makes her want to crawl under her covers like she had during the weekend and hide away forever. Or maybe move to another country. She’s heard England is nice.

 

And yet… a part of her wants to punch ladybug in her perfect little face and make her bleed all over that perfect little suit of hers.  

 

Not that it would show. She’s not even sure if blood will stain on a suit that red and from how smooth Queen Bee’s feels, it might just slide right off. 

 

The ice in her blood evaporates. She refuses to let Ladybug taunt her like this

 

“What does it look like?” She asks, slapping on a smile because why the fuck not. “Just doing my duty as Paris’s number one superhero.” 

  
  


_ Now you’ve done it.   _ She thinks, but she’s not scared, she’s proud. It isn’t going to last long though. She should get out while she can. Before she does something Lila will make her regret later. 

 

And besides. This way if Ladybug says anything else, she’ll be the one who looks bad.

* * *

 

If  Chloé learns  _ anything  _ from walking into school the next day, it’s that Alya has one hell of a poker face.  

 

Seriously. The girl should be squirming in her seats to talk about Queen Bee, not sitting there talking to Marinette, depressingly normal as ever. Why isn’t she bragging about this to Nino? Why isn’t she showing everyone the ladyblog? She practically interviewed Queen Bee yesterday. She bought her a drink and everything. The least she could do is write an interview or something.  

 

Instead it’s  Chloé who can barely sit still. She’ll chip her nails if she keeps tapping them like this.

 

What happened to her? She used to be so confident. Ladybug must have broken her.

 

There’s still some time before class. Maybe she should touch up her eyeshadow, splash some water on her face, maybe redo her hair. (It’s slipping out of her bun. She should really fix that.)

 

She stands up, and Sabrina tries to follow, but then  Chloé rambles something off about privacy and personal space and top secret make-up techniques and Sabrina apologizes and sits back down, wearing that dumb eager to please, puppy grin of hers. 

 

It’s extremely relieving.  Chloé isn’t sure just how much of Sabrina’s stupid sycophantic personality she can take.

 

It’s also extremely satisfying when Lila follows- not that it would be if she was Queen Bee right now, but it’s the perfect excuse to call her out and prove that she’s the top bitch and she’s been wanting to pick a fight with someone since like, forever.  Calm her nerves and all that. And it’s not like she can really hurt her as a civilian. Not when all she can do is make bluffs and update that stupid website.

 

Hell, she’s feeling better already. _ Just try and pick a fight with me.  _ She thinks and grins.

 

“I’m surprised you even dared to show your face around here after Ladybug called you out.” Says Lila, because apparently the only place she has the guts to even talk to  Chloé is in the girl’s bathroom. 

 

Chloé pulls out a comb from her purse, and undos her comb, taking extra care to make sure Lila sees and even going so far as to prop it up against the mirror. (Over a paper towel of course. There’s no way in hell she’s letting her miraculous touch the dirt. It’s far too valuable.)

 

“Please.” She says, side eying Lila to make sure she isn’t recording. She isn’t. She must know what’s best for her. “As if I’d ever let her humiliate me like that. I could take Ladybug any time, any place.”

 

“Oh really.” Says Lila. “Because from the way you and Alya were talking yesterday it sure seemed like you and Alya were getting pretty close. And it sure would be a shame if she knew about your little spat with Ladybug.”

 

Lila pulls out her phone from her pocket and dangles it in front of  Chloé’s nose. Once her eyes are actually able to focus, (seriously how does Lila expect her to  _ see? _ ) She sees that stupid video with the hate blog. 

 

With all the precision of the very, very arrogant, Lila presses play. “It would be easy to send this, you know.” She says, pausing the video seconds later. “All it would take is one… click…”

 

“So?” Says  Chloé, cooly, although what she really wants is to smack that phone out of LIla’s hand and send it smashing to the floor. It’s not like she won’t get away with it. Her daddy has the school board wrapped around his pinky finger. “As if I care. I have everything I need- to take you  _ and  _ her down.” 

 

“Please.” Says Lila back, tucking away her phone back into her pocket. ( _ Damn! _ ) “You’re just… you’re just bluffing. There’s no way-”

 

“You know what else I know?” Asks  Chloé, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. “Aren’t your parents in the embassy? Sure would be a shame if a rumor about the two of them spread- especially to the mayor of Paris. My dear Daddy.”]

 

Lila’s eyes grow wide. “You wouldn’t.” She says, but she’s already cracked. “You can’t!”

 

“Can and will.” Says  Chloé. She gives her hair one last brush before slipping it high into a bun and sticking the comb inside. Then packs away her makeup bag.  She’d been right. Messing with Lila  _ had  _ helped. 

  
She turns to give one last look at Lila before leaving, and shoots her one last smile. “Watch me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is insanely short, but I'm about 1500 words into the next chapter and barely done with the first scene and it's really plotty so there. I'm hoping it will be up tomorrow, (if I can finish it today which I'm hoping for) or maybe friday but I don't want to make any promises.
> 
> Also- a big thank you to anyone who's ever commented on this or kudo'd or bookmarked, or p much supported me in any way. You guys are the best, and I wish there was a better way to thank you all.


	12. It’s Not Bluffing If I Can Lie Well Enough To Back it Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it gets really psychedelic and a little body horror ish around the beginning. Might be a little disorienting too, i dunno. Just wanna warn you guys, but it is in italics so it should be easy to skip if this is something that makes you uncomfortable.
> 
> This is a very strange chapter but it's one of my favorites so far so I hope you enjoy! (Even if the dialogue doesn't quite make sense in the end.)

* * *

 

_ Have you ever been serenaded by a man in tights? Or complemented by an old woman who’d forgotten to feed her cats? _

 

_ Neither have I, but that’s what being beaten by her was like. _

 

* * *

 

Chloé spots the Akuma, before the Akuma spots her, which is good because it gives her time to duck quickly into the alley to transform, but bad because she doesn’t quite have time to warn anyone,let alone Sabrina who just so happens to be carrying everything the two of them just bought and is now snoring away. Because apparently Hawkmoth doesn’t understand the meaning of off days. 

 

Even supervillains need a day off from time to time. Does this guy even have a life?

 

Queen Bee sighs and looks across the street at all the parisians, and sighs deeper when she realizes they’re all asleep, and even deeper than that when she sees the young women covered in bodypaint and a huge, flowing bathrobe throwing sand at people. Because things don’t get weirder than that. 

 

The woman freezes and turns to her, and Queen Bee can literally see the cogs turning around in that rat’s nest of a head as she tries to figure out who Queen Bee is. 

“Who are you?” She asks, her forehead crinkling. She’s practically covered in stress wrinkles. God, has this women heard of power naps? Full 8 hours? Spa days?

 

“Who are  _ you? _ ” Says Queen Bee back although she really doesn’t care and she isn’t sure why she should. 

 

The Akuma smiles, but it’s that floppy kind of grin where it’s almost a frown.  _ Disgusting. _ Queen Bee thinks then shoots one of her own only better. The Akuma’s quickly turns tighter.

 

“I’m Sleepless Beauty.” She says. “Do you know what it’s like to want to sleep forever? I can help you with that, you know.” Her voice is strangely smooth. Calming almost. Makes her think of warm milk and tea with honey and thick, fluffy blankets.  The air smells like chamomile tea and lavender. It’s kind of nice. Relaxing even.

  
  


_ Sleeping forever really wouldn’t be so bad. _ She thinks, eyelids fluttering, body swaying. Lately her nights have been plagued by nightmares, the kind with screaming and cold sweats and waking up in the middle of the night without remembering a single thing. The kind where you can fall asleep for hours and still be tired the next day.

 

Be nice if she could get an eternity of R and R. 

 

She’s swaying even more now and things are growing fuzzy, and the ground is getting a little too close to comfort and is that glitter in the air? She wouldn’t mind glitter. She’s always liked shiny things. Especially when they’re expensive.  Always when they’re expensive. Is this being charged to her credit card because she has a budget now. Can’t be buying the… can’t be buying the…

 

_ Queen Bee is being strangled, their hands wrapped around her neck. There’s a tug, and a bit of pain and a zipper and she’s floating and is that her down there? There’s that someone again. Still strangling, so many hands now there are hundreds- were there hundreds before? Some of them are feet. That’s strange they should all be hands. So many feet though, even if they should be hands and they are kicking her now and she is bruising except she shouldn’t be because she’s wearing a suit and it’s sort of like body armor? Oh wait no. She thought it was spandex. _

 

_ The suit is being zipped off too only it’s a second skin and it’s actually her skin and it’s peeling away and oh look is that her heart? Wait no, that’s silly. Hearts are worn on people’s sleeves or is that just for people like Adrien. Maybe Marinette. Is Marinette ripping her heart out? She’s not sure. She shouldn’t be though. They aren’t friends so she wasn’t invited but  Chloé was.  Chloé is always invited and that’s why someone is peeling her skin off because that’s what friends are for. _

 

_ Now the zipper is going up, up, up and they are unzipping away at her head and pulling something else from her hair and it’s her comb only why is her comb there, and why is she falling why isn’t there a floor or a staircase, isn’t it a fire hazard to only have an elevator and why hasn’t someone opened the door for her yet she thought it was a party don’t they know who she is, she is the queen or maybe a princess okay, she deserves more respect than this, things are progressing too fast- why aren’t you helping me I thought I was- _

 

Shit.

 

Queen Bee’s eyes pop open, and she lurches forward, just inches from the ground. She’s on her knees. The only reason she’s not face first right now is because there is something pulling on her hair. She thinks it’s tangled up there- but it’s hard to tell because she’s-

 

She’s what?

 

She’s bent over on her knees just inches from the ground, and she can feel herself falling forward slowly, like something’s loosening up and for some reason she’s covered in glitter. No, dust. It’s turning into dust. Why is there dust? Why is she so whoozy- it’s like she must have drunk an entire bottle of like, cough syrup or something.

 

Her hair. Her hair is falling out of her bun. There are tendrils of it framing her face- she must look so angelic now. Practically celestial. 

 

Shit- her miraculous. They’re trying to yank her miraculous out of her hair- that’s why she keeps lurching forward and back, that’s why it hurts, that’s why-

 

Shit.

 

Queen Bee reaches for a dart by her side, her heart throbbing like her head is, like her stomach is because she thinks she’s gonna be sick. She pulls it out but it’s fading fast, and her hair is slowly giving way, she can see bits of it falling down next to her. They- she-  _ Sleepless Beauty _ must have given up trying to detangle it. They must be tearing it out, bit by bit.

 

It makes her stomach churn even more just thinking about it. 

 

She grabs for all the darts instead and claws herself up, searching for a spot of bare skin- anything not covered in body tight suit or that frustratingly thick bathrobe she’s wearing. The Akuma kicks her away, and continues tearing Queen Bee’s comb out of her hair. Bodysuit will have to do. She’ll have to hope they’re sharp enough to break skin.

 

The comb is almost free. There’s light pouring everywhere, from her fingers, from her hands.

 

She’s running out of time. She’s almost  Chloé again. 

 

If she hesitates anymore- 

 

No. She won’t let her get that far.

 

She swallows the scream stuck in her throat and pushes away the layers and layers of bathrobe until she finds Sleepless Beauty’s leg (And what a nasty leg it is, like jeez- no. She doesn’t have time for this.) and stabs all five of them in, hard enough to pierce through the spandex suit coating her body, hard enough that a thin trickle of blood dribbles down the leg and onto Queen Bee’s hands, and hard enough that Sleepless Beauty’s body crumbles and hits the ground with a soft thud.

 

Queen Bee tries to stand, but falls to her knees. She wipes the blood on Sleepless Beauty’s bathrobe and tries not to puke. Then she pulls what’s left of her hair into a pun or something, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. And another after that. It doesn’t really work though, because she’s ugly crying a few minutes later, with snot and body wracking sobs and everything.

 

She’s never had to use all five at once before. She hadn’t thought it would be this exhausting. Or maybe that’s just the way things turned out.

 

“Shit.” She whispers, because she deserves it. Her throat is terribly hoarse. Was she screaming in 

her sleep? She doesn’t think she was. 

 

There’s a red butterfly around Sleeping Beauty. It flickers in and out of sight, but it’s there all right. She couldn’t even ignore it if she wanted too. 

 

_ Right.  _ She thinks, and swears not so softly to herself.  _ The Akuma. _

 

She’d better find it soon. If she has to fight Sleeping Beauty again, she’ll either collapse or puke.

 

She starts to stand again- successful this time- and stumbles over and digs around in Sleepless Beauty’s pockets until she finds a bottle of sleeping pills. She’s pretty sure Ladybug does something to them once she has the… (item? Object? Screw it- she’s too tired to think properly) thing, like some sort of phrase and she breaks it or something.

 

She throws it against the road, and watches the akuma fly off when the lid breaks. It’s strangely beautiful in a way, with all the darkness spilling out and the purple splotches.

 

What’s that thing that Ladybug shouts? Oh yeah.  _ “Bye Bye little butterfly.”  _ She says, and it floats off, still the same as before.

 

Whatever.  She did her job. Queen Bee’s done for the day.

* * *

 

She barely has the energy to detransform, but she tries anyways, and suddenly she’s Chloé again, and she feels even sicker than ever. Even Zeezle looks worse for wear, practically limp. 

She hadn’t considered that being Queen Bee could be tiring for kwami too.

 

“You can’t just capture an Akuma. You need to purify it first- what were you thinking?”

 

Nevermind. Zeezle can’t be that exhausted if she’s nagging. Like seriously… the first  thing she says in weeks.

 

“I don’t care.” Chloé says, and she actually means it. “I said the words, I freed the akuma, I’m going to take a shower.”  

 

She pulls out her phone and realizes she’s got a thousand and one messages, mostly from Sabrina. She deletes them all, and texts her driver instead.  She’ll deal with it later. She can barely think straight- how the hell’s she supposed to come up with an excuse? 

 

She sends something quick anyways. Something about being kidnapped. Sabrina’s not the brightest candle in the chandelier but she’s not stupid either.  

 

“You should be working with Ladybug.” Says Zeezle, feebly, and Chloé shrugs.

 

“Yeah well…” She says, and waits for her driver. It isn’t long. 

 

* * *

 

No one says anything about the hair- which is good because she’s not exactly in the best mood, but then again that’s why. Someone does however ask if she wants a salon appointment scheduled, and she tells them to go ahead.

 

She has to meet with Alya in a little less than an hour though, so it’ll have to be later tonight. 

 

Whatever. She’s work wonders with a comb before and it’s nothing that a few carefully placed bobby pins won’t secure. She just hopes she has enough hairspray to get away with it.

 

She’s a queen- not a miracle worker after all. And there’s only so much a good soak, and a ton of product can do.

 

* * *

  
  


Alya is already sitting down, drink in one hand, and tablet in the other, and although it disgusts her to be this late, Queen Bee sits down with a smile anyways. Orders a coffee with milk. The strongest cup they’ve got, actually. God knows she needs the caffeine. 

 

“Find anything new?” She asks.

 

“There were some bugs with the programming.” Says Alya, and takes a quick sip of her drink before continuing. “I’m getting Max to work out the details- why are you so sure she’s even a student?”

 

“I never said she’s a student.” Sniffs Queen Bee.  “I just said there’s no way she’s a thousand years old.”

 

The waiter comes by with her coffee, and she thanks them, and pays well. It’s a different cafe. There’s sugar already on the table. 

 

_ ‘Good.’ _ She thinks, and smiles softly to herself. There hadn’t been enough sugar last time. She wants more.

 

“I see.” Says Alya, who’s now pointing her phone towards Queen Bee. “Do you think there have been other Ladybug’s in the past?”

 

Queen Bee dips one of her sugar cubes in her coffee, then pops it in her mouth once it’s turned brown. It’s surprisingly tasty. She never would have guessed. 

 

“Maybe.” She says, and shrugs. “Maybe not.”

 

Alya grins. She starts to lean in, just enough that Queen Bee’s heart quickens. Must be nerves. She was nervous last time, why should today be any different.

 

“Where did the first ladybug originate?” She asks, getting closer and closer with each word. “Is she reincarnated throughout the ages, or is it a family heirloom? What’s so special about her earrings?”

 

“You mean her miraculous?” Says Queen Bee, grabbing her coffee and sliding away. What- does Alya have no definition of personal space? “How does this help you figure out who Ladybug is again?”

 

She takes a sip of her coffee and dips another sugar cube inside. 

 

_ This is just like yesterday.  _ She thinks and cringes a bit. 

 

It’s not that she doesn’t love talking about herself. It’s different when it’s all about Ladybug. 

 

Alya smiles even wider. “I’m just clearing things up.” She says. “What would you say your miraculous is, by the way?”

  
  


“I thought we were here to talk about who Ladybug.” Says Queen Bee, but her fingers automatically go up to her comb. 

 

Alya shrugs. “Hey.” She says, and shrugs. “You promised me the deats. I’m just here for what I came for.”

 

_ It’s not what  _ I  _ came for.  _ Queen Bee thinks miserably, and tries not to frown. 

 

“Yeah. Sure.” She says. Pushes away Alya’s phone with a finger. “Whatever you want. Just figure out who Ladybug is.”

 

There’s a bit of a pause. Alya slides back to her chair, and stirs her drink, the ice clinking against the glass. 

 

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” She asks a few seconds later. “I know why  _ I  _ do, what about you? Don’t you guys already know each other's identities?”

 

Queen Bee freezes up for a second before bulshitting something about romantic subtext and rivalries.  She thinks it works. She hopes it works. Same thing- except-

 

Alya’s eyes are twinkling. Why are they twinkling? Are they supposed to do that? 

 

It’s actually kind of cute. Uncomfortable- but still a little adorable. 

 

It makes her skin crawl just thinking about it.

 

“I knew it!” Alya exclaims, leaping up from her seat, and practically scaring the life out of Queen Bee, some poor waiter, and a flock of pigeons who have now scattered. She sits back down, and adjusts her glasses, still grinning very widely. “I mean not about the kissing- I mean come on those two are practically dating but- you don’t know a thing do you!”

 

“I know more than you. I’ve been doing this for  _ years. _ ” Says Queen Bee, although her heart is pounding in her chest.  Her face is burning up. Is she blushing- no she must be mad. She doesn’t feel mad though she-

 

She what?

 

“Oh really.” Says Alya, raising an eyebrow. That little mole above her eye moves too. Oh god it’s precious-

 

No. This isn’t the time. Think about Adrien. Kissing Adrien. Holding hands with Adrien. 

 

“Are you saying I’m a liar?” 

 

“I’m saying, if we’re gonna keep working together, we need to be honest.” Alya says. Her eyes are wide. Trusting. 

 

No. No no no no nononononono. 

 

Something shifts in Queen Bee. Her heart starts pounding harder.  Her face feels warmer.  If she touches it, she’s almost certain she’d be burning up. 

 

Adrien.  She was so happy when he came back to school- right? Think of the plan, think of the plan, think of the plan-

 

Not her. Definitely not her. Not Marinette’s bossy friend. 

 

_ Think of the first day you met. She practically called you out-  she hates you. _

 

_ You hate her-right? _

 

_ Right?  _

 

She wants to scream. Thankfully someone does for her. 

  
  
  



	13. I Want a Girl With the Right Allocations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want a girl with the right allocations  
> Who's fast and thorough  
> And sharp as a tack  
> She's playing with her jewelry  
> She's putting up her hair  
> She's touring the facility  
> And picking up slack
> 
> -short skirt/long jacket by Cake

* * *

 

_ Of all the things I tried to steal, her heart was the only thing that mattered. _

* * *

 

Queen Bee stands up, her wings shooting out of her back. “I’ll see you later.” She says, and she means it, she really does. 

 

Even if she doesn’t want to.

 

Maybe Alya says something, maybe she doesn’t, but Queen Bee’s gone in seconds and she can’t be gladder. 

 

She’s above Paris in minutes, her eyes scanning the streets. 

 

And then Queen Bee freezes.

 

No. She thinks, and then shit!, because there’s no way, there can’t be- she dealt with that earlier. Because there’s no way she can go through with that again. Not today. Not ever. 

 

She wants to cry. She really does because one was bad enough. Because now there are more.

 

And it’s Stoneheart all over again.

 

The streets are filled with thousands of asleep Parisians, a dozen Sleepless Beauty’s to match, all walking around throwing dust from the pockets of their identical, dumb bathrobes. One of them looks at her and she swears they wink and give a little wave. Never has anything so innocent made her blood run cold.

 

She’s feeling woozy just thinking about it. Besides she’s only got five darts- there’s no way that she’ll be able to fight them all off. Not at once and certainly not without help.

 

It makes her sick just thinking about it.

 

_ “What were you thinking?”  _

 

Shit. Again. 

 

She doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. Not now, not today, not with Sleepless Beauty running around like she didn’t bite the metaphorical dust.

 

She turns around slowly and there Ladybug is, like she  _ always  _ is and she’s mad- it’s written all over her face. She wants to punch that face so bad. 

 

“You should have left it to me.” 

 

“Please.” Says Queen Bee, trying to fake laugh. It comes out as more as a nervous giggle. This really isn’t her day. “As if you could get there in time. Now excuse me, I’ve got an akuma to deal with.”  She turns to leave, but she can’t- because Chat is there. 

 

He’s not blocking her, just standing there, leaning on that dumb pole of his, but the sight of him makes something sour curl up in her gut and she freezes in place.

 

_ I didn’t mean to hit you.  _ She thinks.

 

_ I mean I did but I don’t any more. You just wanted what I want. _

 

She almost says sorry, she almost does- she sort of means it too and she doesn’t know why, but she can’t seem to say it outloud. Not yet.

 

_ Not now, not ever. You hit him for a reason. He deserved it. He deserves it now. _

 

Except she’s not so sure he did.

 

They sort of stare at each other, and she swallows and wishes she could scream, and Ladybug says something and so does he but all she hears is the blood rushing in her ears. 

 

Everything’s so fuzzy. She needs time to think.

 

“I’ll find the original.I fought her before” Queen Bee says monotonously, although she’s not sure how, and drops. Like literally drops from the sky into the streets, her wings only shooting out to stop her when it looks like she’s about to hit the ground.

 

It sounds like someone calls out to her, but all Queen Bee hears for sure is the wind, and all she sees is Sleepless Beauty. Which, considering what she’s done is only natural.

 

It wasn’t like she wanted this-okay? It wasn’t like she woke up today and decided she was going to destroy all of Paris. It’s not like she deserves this. She shouldn’t have to stand for this. Not today. Not when so much of it's gone down the drain. 

 

When this is over she’ll take a long soak. When this is over she’ll sleep forever. When this is over she’ll-

 

Shit. 

 

One of the Sleepless Beauties is staring at her, it’s hands dripping dust, a smile smacked dead center on it’s face. It sways a little. Like the person inside wants to wake up- no pun intended.Except- this isn’t the one she’s looking for. It doesn’t recognize her. It’s just a waste of her time. 

 

“You look like you need  _ a nap!” _ It cries and lunges forward. Wings working furiously, she shoots up and dodges just in time. It’s disgustingly sloppy but she’s exhausted, and pissed and confused and she really doesn’t have the mental energy for it. If Ladybug has a problem she can deal with it herself.

 

_ Just think a month ago you would have done almost anything to get her to like you. _

 

_ How far you’ve fallen. It’s pitiful really. The Queen Bee from then wouldn’t have stood for any of this. The Queen Bee from then wouldn’t bother asking for help from her of all people. The Queen Bee- _

 

_ “Shut up!” _ She whispers, only she accidently says it outloud. In front of a thousand asleep Parisians and dozen Sleepless Beauties, neither of which will remember all this when they wake up.

 

_ I’m stronger than ever. _ She thinks, and her hands ball into fists. Her blood’s boiling under her skin. She’s itching to punch something. Itching to pick a fight.

 

_ Please. Look at you, you’re practically one of them.  _

 

Queen Bee takes a deep breath, and scans the streets again, until she spots another Sleepless Beauty and she dives back down again at alarming speed. She doesn’t bother worrying about the one she just met. Ladybug and Chat Noir can deal with this themselves. They’ve dealt with worse- they can distract a dozen- maybe two- akuma copies while she tries to find the original. 

 

This Sleepless Beauty doesn’t hesitate like the last one did, just twirls around and throws dust in the air like some sort of grinning fountain. It’s too happy for someone too tired. There’s no way it’s the original. It’s too happy for someone so tired.

 

She shoots back up again, coughing heavily as she tries to blow off what little dust managed to land on her. It makes her woozy for a second and she almost falls. She lands on the roof of a building. Tries not to fall asleep.

 

_ Weak _ whispers her thoughts again, and Queen Bee closes her eyes and tries to think of something else, anything else. Adrien maybe? New shoes? 

 

The first thing that pops inter her head is Alya and she shakes her head and opens her eyes. Not her. Not now. She’ll deal with it later. When it doesn’t make her head start to spin.

 

She sees another Sleepless Beauty and it sees her, and she swears she flinches a little.  _ That’s her. _ She thinks. She could recognize those eyes anywhere. She’s good with eyes. It must be her thing. 

 

She takes a second to ground herself before diving back down again, her hands reaching for the stinger by her side.  _ Five shots _ . She thinks, and inhales deeply. She did it before, she can do it again. Higher stakes? Sure but if she really thinks about it, it’s just one lousy akuma. She’ll just have to make sure to capture the akuma this time as well.

 

_ Now or never _ . She thinks, because if she doesn’t take the shot soon, she’ll never move from her spot. She just hopes she’s close enough that it’ll work. That she’ll get there in time.

  
  


The Sleepless Beauty’s still staring. She hopes that they can’t fly. She’s begging that they can’t. 

 

And Queen Bee hesitates. And the Sleepless Beauty runs.

 

It’s weaving in between the streets of Paris at an alarming speed, its hands tucked inside the pockets of it’s bathrobe. There’s a red butterfly around it’s eyes. It must be planning something.

 

Queen Bee leaps over the edge of the rooftop, and there are a few seconds before her wings kick in that she’s just tumbling towards the ground. She doesn’t really notice though, her eyes trained on Sleepless Beauty, her hands curled around her stinger. They’re so close… if she could just…. Stay… stilll…

“Hey.” she shouts, and the Sleepless Beauty pauses for a second. “Stop moving!”

 

“Give me your miraculous first!” It says back just as loud. She swears it’s laughing at her. How she wishes she could wipe that stupid smirk off it’s face…

 

How she wishes she could even see it’s face…

 

She lunges forward in an attempt to grab it’s bathrobe and maybe get to the akuma quicker-even if she’s got no idea how she’ll keep it from flying off again- only she gets a face full of dust instead and has to slap herself to keep from falling asleep. She tries again, and again but it’s moving too fast and she can hardly turn around without coughing up dust.

 

Shit. She thinks and shoots straight up instead.  _ How fast can you even go in a bathrobe? _

 

Apparently fast enough. 

 

She takes a shot, no pun intended, and silently begs the universe that she’ll be lucky for once and make it.

 

It hits Sleepless Beauty in the side of the neck, and for a second, it’s form flickers and it’s the akuma victim from earlier, some middle aged woman wearing a pantsuit and thick makeup. And then she’s gone, and Sleepless Beauty’s staggering to stay up again.

 

It snarls at her and tries to claw it’s way up Queen Bee’s body, but she shoots it with the remaining four darts and it flops onto the street. She gives it a little kick, before rummaging in some poor, passed out Parisian’s purse for something to contain the akuma with. She finds a small makeup bag- the cheap clear kind so it can’t be that important- and dumps its contents next to it’s owner.

 

Then she digs in Sleepless Beauty’s stupid bathrobe for the akuma, before zipping the akumatized sleeping pills inside the bag and crushing it with her foot, trapping the akuma inside. 

 

Ladybug can do the rest, she thinks and sighs. She doesn’t have the energy to find her right now. She’ll deal with it later.

 

Besides. She won. Shouldn’t that be enough?

* * *

 

The first thing she does when she gets back, is google her name. 

 

Not Chloé - although she'd be lying if she said she hadn’t considered it- but Queen Bee, and miraculous, and Paris, and even Akuma because why the fuck not. 

 

She should be sleeping. She knows she should be sleeping, but she can’t. A part of it’s because of Sleeping Beauty and another part is because of Chat Noir, but another part of is because of Alya and that’s the part she hates. 

 

She doesn’t hate Alya. She  _ thought  _ she hated Alya, and maybe she  _ did  _ hate Alya, except she doesn’t anymore and now she wishes she did. She doesn’t really know what to make of her now. 

 

It makes her mind buzz and her stomach churn and her heart hollow in her chest. Makes her want to scream. Makes her want to run.

 

Chloé  closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. And then she stops because that’s what Alya does, and it’s not sure if it’s something she wants to start doing, regardless of how she feels about her. Even if she’s starting to suspect those feelings are very,  _ very _ gay.

 

She needs to think on this. Needs to sort things out. But mostly needs to make sure that there’s no way Alya can trace the hate blog to Queen Bee. Because regardless of any feelings she might have- there’s no way she can let Alya connect the dots.

 

She clicks search and painfully drags her eyes over pages and pages of google, searching again and again to make sure she doesn’t miss anything. Finally she slides the computer away and allows herself to breath. Nothing. Lila’s hate blog must be so shitty and insignificant that there’s no way she can find it.

 

She was right all along. 

 

No need to worry. 

 

So she hates Chloé . That’s alright- Chloé  hates Alya right? Or she’s supposed to anyways, that’s how it’s been, that’s how it’s always been and it doesn’t have to change. Alya hates Chloé  too, and that probably won’t change, not now not ever and she’s fine with that but Alya seems to like Queen Bee- right? And Queen Bee can like Alya because they are strangers, and have no history, and even if it’s in a totally…  _ romantic  _ … sort of way that’s fine too. Because it’s Queen Bee and not Chloé . And Queen Bee’s allowed to like girls because she’s off saving Paris all the time and who’s gonna stop the savior of Paris from having a few dates with a cute girl- huh?

 

_ That isn’t how it works. _ She thinks, but she can’t exactly make these feelings go away. They’re a part of her- part of both halves of her and she can’ just push them onto Queen Bee and pretend like everything's normal. Even if she’s acted like that her whole damn life.

 

Because apparently she’s been suppressing things for way too long, and now she’s not sure what she wants or why she wants it or if she even really liked guys to begin with or if it was all internalized or-

 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. So she’s… fond of the same sex. It’s nothing new. It doesn’t change anything. She thought it herself earlier anyways, she’s always been like this, she’s just been pretending like she wasn’t right? So it’s not like on one level or another she didn’t know- right? That she wasn’t aware? 

 

And it’s not like there aren’t other people with similar…. preferences so it’s not like she’s alone.

 

She’s fine. Chloé  tells herself, and clears her history real quick before turning off her phone and placing it besides her bed. She smiles a little, and closes her eyes and tries to relax. Tries to pretend like there isn’t an akuma hidden away in her purse, or a hate bog, or that she’s pretty sure she’s falling head over designer heels for the one person who wants her gone the most.

 

_ It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.  _

 

There are three things Chloé  will never admit out loud. The first is about spandex. The third is about Alya’s Ladyblog. And the second?

 

As if she could ever admit she’s never loved Adrien as more than just a friend or a prize to be won.

  
  
  



	14. Friends Without Benefits

 

* * *

_People tend to stick around for longer if you distract them enough._

_I mean, that's how I married your father. I should have figured it would work with her too._

* * *

The next day, Chloé hides Sleepless Beauty's akuma in her locker, being extra careful that there's no one watching. She's not sure why she worries. After Alya's little… incident… (it's been months and she still can't figure out the meaning behind that) no one's dared to even come close to her locker, so it's pretty much the safest place she knows.

Chloé hasn't decided yet what she'll do if someone tries to take a peak. Before she would've expelled someone in seconds for taking a picture, but now that she's actually got something to hide?

It makes her stomach twist a little inside, but she brushes it off and slams her locker door shut. She's not abusing her power or anything- she actually has things to lose now and it's for their own safety and besides, even if she is, so what? What's the point of having power if you can't use it?

She's not a bad person. Bitchy, perhaps, snarky, well duh, but bad? Nah. How can you be bad at anything when you're perfect?

Still, she notices that Sabrina flinches when she closes her locker, and she sees when Lila shoots her a glare, and she considers something snippy back, but mostly she's tired. It's been a nasty few days. Probably be a nasty week now that she considers it.

She's looking forward to the end of the day, to going home and putting on some XY and a nice, long soak with all the works. Maybe she'll light a few candles too. It's not like she doesn't deserve it- she does save Paris on a number of occasions.

"I finished your homework for the week!" Says Sabrina, because speak of the frickin' devil's why.

"That's great." She says absentmindedly, and tries to remember if she grabbed her notebooks or not. She feels like she gave them to Sabrina, but can't quite figure out if she has or not.

"You- you know, Chloé, my birthday's coming up." Says Sabrina, except Chloé hadn't really been listening. Mostly she's just trying not to fall asleep on her feet. "You don't have to get me a present or anything, but what I'd really, really like is a comb just like yours if that's okay. It's just, it looks so good on you and I thought well, if I could look just one fifth of how good you look, well, I dunno. It's stupid."

"Yeah. Sure. _Whatever_ " Says Chloé, stopping her now because she only got a few hours of sleep last night and she honestly can not deal with the sound of Sabrina's voice right now. She's worse than Zeezle. (If she hears one more 'I told you so' she s _wears_ -)

Sabrina's eyes swell up so wide they start to bulge. It's kind of gross actually. Maybe someday someone'll tell her she looks like a frog.

"Really?" She squeals. "You'd really do that for me?"

Chloé freezes- not physically, they're in the middle of the hall, it's not like she can- but mentally, her mind whirling and whirling around, trying to comprehend what's going on.

Something about her comb? Something about Sabrina wanting her comb?

She's like, 80 percent sure they've talked about this before. The exact details are a little unclear- but she's pretty sure she promised she'd buy her one of her own? Wow. That was like, forever ago. No wonder she never went through with it.

"Of course." She say, because it will get Sabrina to _shut up_. "We're friends- right? I buy you stuff all the time."

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you- thank you!" Says Sabrina- in some sort of grating hushed scream. She's jumping up and down she just- not? She's going to drop Chloé's bag if she keeps this up.

Chloé better have pain relievers in there because she's building up one monster of a headache.

They get to class- early- and sit down, and Sabrina goes on and on and on about how grateful she is, and how Chloé's the best human being on the planet. Which is nice, except Chloé's not really feeling it right now. And she probably won't anytime soon.

Literally the only thing keeping her from freaking out is the sight of Alya across the room, and even that's a little frustrating because it's not like she can just- talk to her or something. Or she could, and she wants too, except there's no way it'll end well- even if she did know Chloé was Queen Bee.

Actually no. That might make things worse.

She wants to pound her head into the desk in frustration. But then again, she wants to do a lot of things that she can't exactly get away with so it's not like the feeling isn't mutual.

Like she's pretty sure she thought earlier: what's the point of power if you can never use it?

* * *

The only reason Chloé even bothers transforming into Queen Bee the second she gets out of school, is because of Alya, and even that is almost not good enough. She considers blowing it off, and taking a nap instead, but she's pretty sure that if she does, Alya will think Queen Bee's avoiding her and the last thing she wants to do at this stage of their…. Partnership… is alienate her.

Still, she barely has the energy to transform, and even Zeezle looks a little worried when she almost runs into a wall trying to find a place to turn into Queen Bee.

"You need to sleep." She says. Nags really. Because it wouldn't be Zeezle otherwise.

"Why do you care?" Asks Chloé, zipping up a bag to take with her. It's filled with glass jars. Better to catch akuma with, she thinks. "I thought you hated me."

She considers slipping her phone inside before she changes her mind. Nothing that connects Queen Bee to Chloé. She's not gonna risk it.

Even if it means wearing a- she cringes a little at this- non designer label.

"I don't hate you." Says Zeezle, surprisingly softly and Chloé shrugs.

"Please." She says. "You've been like this from day one." And before Zeezle can even protest even more than a little, she shouts: " _ **Transform me!**_ " And everything glows gold.

* * *

It doesn't matter if she's early or late, because Alya's already there and that's sort of why Queen Bee's even bothering to show up in the first place. It's not even a good cafe, like seriously she bets it doesn't even have good coffee. But that's besides the point.

Still, she forces herself to stop smiling and look serious- or at least confident. She's used to confident. She usually is confident okay it's not like Alya makes anything different. She was able to talk to Ladybug all the time- there is literally no reason she can't be the same, alternate identities and past feuds aside.

Alya waves looks at her and Queen Bee dies a little inside from like, happiness or something super cheesy and ridiculous like that. She sits down. Folds her hands in her lap and tries to look nonchalant.

(Should she make eye contact? Does she normally? Is that creepy? Is avoiding her eyes creepy?)

There's silence as she tries to decide whether or not to say anything. She calls over a waiter instead to keep things from getting too quiet, and orders the largest, strongest coffee they've got. She just hopes the caffeine will kick in in time.

(Wouldn't it be so embarrassing if Alya was talking and Queen Bee just started yawning or fell asleep? She's pretty sure she'd die. And she's also pretty sure she's turning red right now. Shit.)

"I was able to make a list of everyone in _Collège Françoise Dupont_ who hasn't been akumatized yet." Says Alya, breaking the silence and getting down to business as always.

Chloé heaves a sigh of relief and briefly thanks the universe for going easy on her for once.

Except instead of stopping there, which actually makes sense, Alya continues talking.

"But I was right yesterday when I said we needed to be honest with each other. This is valuable information. How do I know you're even a hero- huh?"

She says it in a way that makes Queen Bee wonder if she's even serious, if it's even worth worrying about, but also in a way that makes her blood go cold. Alya doesn't kid around when it comes to trust. She should have figured she'd bring that up, it was really only a matter of time.

Just like before, she freezes. Just like before, she considers whipping out her wings right now and making a run for it. Except unlike before, no one screams. She's stuck here- whether she likes it or not.

"Alright." She says after an eternity. (or long enough for her coffee to come in.) "What do you wanna know?" It sounds painfully stiff in her head, and it comes out that way too, but it's better then running and really if Alya can't figure that out, then maybe Queen Bee's going to the wrong person for help.

She feels stiff too, and has to force herself to relax. It's just Alya. She tells herself, it's not like she's Hawkmoth.

Except that only makes things worse. At least Hawkmoth is hateable. And probably ugly too.

"Everything." Says Alya. "Start from the beginning- and don't skip out on any of the details."

* * *

Queen Bee glances briefly at the list of names in her hand before stuffing them in the pocket of her bag. Still, regardless of how painfully tedious that last hour was (how many times can you tell someone that you don't know before they figure it out?) it was nice to be able to talk to Alya without it being an insult, and the fact that she's one step closer to finding out Ladybug's identity just makes it all sweeter.

She thanks Alya very quickly, and says goodbye and tells her that she'll see her in a few days, but maybe at a better cafe because this one's overpriced. That last part is so un-Chloé she has to add it in. Because secret identities and all that.

Still, identity shenanigans and almost dates aside, the first thing she does when she's no longer Queen Bee is fall asleep. She barely makes it to her bed actually, just collapses on the edge- clothes and all.

* * *

Chloé looks over the list when she wakes up in the morning, and crosses out everyone she knows can't be Ladybug. Which is pretty much Marinette Dupain-Cheng, because if there is one thing for certain, it's that there's _no way_ that clumsy loser's a superhero. She's almost willing to bet her miraculous on it.

Almost being the key word.

There's a certain Mireille Caquet at the top, and she googles it really quick to find out why that sounds so familiar.

Winner of the KIDZ+ Weather Forecasting contest, good grades, frequently volunteers at animal shelter… sounds legitimate. She stalks her facebook real quick for a quick picture, and gives it a quick comparison.

It isn't quite right, but then again she's pretty sure that no matter who she finds there's going to be something that doesn't fit. Must be some sort of magic in her miraculous that distorts things. That's gotta be why no ones figured out she's Queen Bee yet.

And thank the universe for that.

Chloé circles the name, before folding up the piece of paper and stuffing it in the pocket of her purse. Then she sends Mireille Caquet a friend request. Because why the fuck not.

* * *

Finding Mireille online is one thing, but finding her irl is practically impossible.

Chloé gets to school extra early and hangs around Mme Mendeleev's class until right before homeroom starts and she still manages to miss her. She lingers around the lockers. She searches the bathrooms. She hangs around a bit after school and doesn't even spot her.

How hard is it to find one teenage girl- huh?

She's practically pulling her hair out by the time the day ends from sheer frustration.

At least she accepts Chloé's friend request though, so it's not like Mireille's avoiding her or something. Or at the very least, she's smart enough to pretend like she's not. With grades like that, no wonder.

She likes a few of Mireille's pictures on a whim, and comments on a few more, and then sends her a quick message along the lines of 'let's hang out new bestie!' because the least she can do is befriend Ladybug before she crushes her hopes and dreams. Besides. Ladybug likes Chloé- she's certainly saved her plenty of times. She must be itching to get to know her better.

She doesn't get a message right away, which is a pain but these things take time, so whatever. She's willing to wait a little to get what she wants. Especially since it will be all worth it in the end.

Still, Chloé's never really been the most patient of people.

And willing to wait or not, she'd expect Ladybug to be a bit faster when it comes to messages. (What if there was an emergency- huh? How's she supposed to be able to get there in time? Social Media is the fastest and most reliable way of finding everything and anything that's going on after all. Chloé would know. She _thrives_ off of it.)

She gets a message back, sometime around eleven and she almost screams. It's short and sweet, and simple and to the point, but mostly it's a yes and that's all that matters.

She waits a few minutes before replying- just so she doesn't seem too eager or desperate or whatever, then suggests a time and a place before tacking on a ton of emojis and clicking send. Mireille replies back in seconds. She looks forward to hanging out with Chloé.

Which is understandable- Chloé's about at fantastic a friend as they come, but it still sends her red flags. Would Ladybug really be dumb enough to meet up with someone online? What if this was a trap- huh? What if Chloé was actually Hawkmoth in disguise?

That last part's a little ridiculous. As if Hawkmoth could ever pull off being Chloé the guy's probably some pervy old man alone in a room. There's no way.

It's natural to have doubts. She reminds herself. She's gotten so far, so quickly, why shouldn't she?

And there's nothing wrong with doubt. Especially when she figures out Ladybug's and gets to start using them against her.

The thought makes her smile, and she sets herself a reminder on her calender, before turning off her phone and pulling her covers over her, falling asleep to the sweet, sweet thought of revenge.

* * *

Chloé reminds herself that it's not a date. She tries. She picks out simple nudes, and ties her hair back into a simple bun, but before she can remind herself that it isn't one, she's already coordinated her makeup with the outfit for the day, and picked out a cute pair of designer flats to tie everything together. The result isn't simple in the least.

That's alright. She tells herself, as she stares at a pair of dangly bee earrings and tries to decide whether or not to be inconspicuous. Dress to impress- right?

In the end she looks way too adorable to change, so she keeps it- bee themed jewelry and all. She's always looked good in high waisted pants anyways. There's no point in taking them off and trying to figure out how to coordinate them with something else now is there?

She gives her lipstick a few touch ups, and adjusts her mascara ever so slightly before pulling out her phone and snapping a selfie. And then a few more because why not.

She posts them on her instagram real quick. Then she grabs her purse, and calls for her driver.

Mireille isn't there as fast as she likes, but she _is_ Ladybug, so Chloé forgives her. Actually, for the first ten minutes, there's not even the slightest _hint_ that Mireille is coming at all, or at least not until Chloé checks her phone and realizes that she's gotten a message from her on facebook.

'Have to take a raincheck bc work. Im really sorry. :( '

Chloé sort of stares at it for a couple seconds, trying to decide how to reply to that. She closes her eyes and tries to calm down. Tries to figure out whether or not to be insulted.

It's all for revenge. She reminds herself, and forces herself to smile. Then she sends Mireille a smiley and an 'ok!'. Because it's Ladybug. Because it's another reason to hate her guts. Because she's already sworn revenge so there's no point in getting mad. Even if her blood is boiling right now. Even if her hands are curling into fists.

She starts to stand, but then her phone gets another notification from the Ladyblog about an Akuma attack, and it all becomes clear.

_Bc work._

_Of course!_ She should have figured it was something akuma related. Should have figured that was the only way she would cancel on Chloé.

" _ **Transform me!"**_ She screams, because she can, and she's sort of in a corner so it doesn't matter.

Not when she's finally certain who Ladybug is.


	15. Why Don’t You Interview Me With Your Lips Instead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry that this isn't super early like the other chapters have been. I hit a block with this chapter, and the next and took a few days to work on my outline a little bit. 
> 
> Really glad I did take the time, this is one of my favourite chapters so far and has arguably the best line I have ever written in it and I'm super proud. 
> 
> Next chapter just needs to be edited, and will be posted in a few days. The one after that will take some time. Mostly because I'm 2000 words in and only just started.
> 
> Anyways it's super late here so I'm heading off to bed.

* * *

 

_ The problem with falling in love with your arch-nemesis is that there’s always something- or someone other than the obvious in the way.  _

 

_ Miraculous’s always seem to come in pairs, don’t they? _

* * *

 

Whoever Hawkmoth is, he must not have a life, because over the next few days, Queen Bee sees more akuma attacks then she sees an entire month. Seriously. How many angry Parisians are there? She knows it’s a big city, but jeez. Throw a girl some slack.

 

What she really wants, is to just throw herself in and steal the show, Akumas be damned and all that, really show off her skills in front of Alya. Except, Ladybug is already on the scene, by the time Queen Bee gets there, so she sticks to the shadows instead. She’s not ready for a confrontation- not yet at least. Not until she’s gotten everything she needs first. And especially with the all too real possibility that Lila could be there. The only reason she’s even out here today, is because she know Alya’ll be watching. And there’s no way she’s giving her the impression that she’s some sort of vagrant or something.

 

Even if she sort of feels like one from where she’s standing.

 

The Akuma’s got some sort of dentist theme going on, which normally Queen Bee would be fine with, (after all who  _ doesn’t _ want healthy, sparkly teeth?) except instead of waiting around in an office to combat gingivitis, she’s sticking a giant toothbrush in people’s mouths and destroying candy shops. Which seems like a bit much. 

 

Besides? What kind of name is ‘Plaque Destroyer’ anyways? Seems a little extreme if you ask Queen Bee.

 

Maniacal, Dentist themed villain aside, Ladybug and Chat Noir seem to have it covered. Chat’s already succumbed to using his  **_cataclysm_ ** and Ladybug’s trying to figure out how to use the toaster they’ve summoned, all while avoiding Plaque Destroyer’s dental floss wip (kinky), so there doesn’t seem to be much of a use for her. She’s pretty much stuck from the sidelines.

 

Queen Bee shoots a few darts anyways, and ducks around a building before Ladybug can see her. She’s certain she hits her mark, because a few minutes later there’s an all too familiar blast of light and a thousand tiny ladybugs flooding into Paris. 

 

She stays to watch for a bit, considers following Ladybug to see what her secret identity is, but decides against it. 

 

Partially because it makes her stomach twist, and partially because she sees an all too familiar face in the crowd, all too eager to watch her mess up. Because if Hawkmoth isn’t allowed to have a life, neither is Lila. (At this point, she’s starting to suspect that the two  _ are  _ the same, Volpina be damned.)

 

Queen Bee goes home instead. She has better things to do anyways.

* * *

 

_ It only feels like a date. _ Reminds Queen Bee, as she sips her orange juice.  _ Stop pretending like it’s anything but a business meeting. _

 

She’d looked way too much into this, coordinating her lipgloss, and twisting her hair up all new, but it’s all for Alya and even if this isn’t a date- which it  _ isn’t,  _ she reserves the right to put actual effort into her appearance.

 

Besides. She’s Queen Bee. Over the top is part of her personality.  If Alya can’t understand that, maybe they should see different people?

 

She’s being ridiculous. Not even actually paying attention to what Alya’s saying. Some theory about Ladybug maybe? About the miraculous’s? About Ladybug’s miraculous? She looks cute when she theorizes. She wonders if she’s noticed Queen Bee’s hair yet. It’s new. She worked on it for hours- not a strand out of place. 

 

Does Alya think this is a date? It doesn’t look like it. Alya’s practically in her own little world. 

 

“Do you like my hair?” She blurts out, because she’s been holding it in this entire time and if she doesn’t say it now, it’ll burst out later.

 

Except it sorta did. Burst out that is. 

 

She thinks she gonna be sick. 

 

“What?” Says Alya, and because there’s no turning back at this point: 

 

“I said, do you like my hair? I’m trying something new.”

 

Alya blinks and the mole above her eye bobs. It’s extremely adorable. 

 

_ Not a date, not a date, not a date. _

 

“Yeah, sure it’s great. Were you even listening at all?” 

 

_ Are you flirting? You gorgeous, perfect idiot- this isn’t a date. Stop it. _

 

“Not really, no.” Because honestly that’s why. Because if she hears Ladybug’s name praised one more time she’s gonna be akumatized.  “Alya, I’ve spent the last week over my head with Akuma- I’m a person too you know. I have needs.” 

 

“How could you not? You’re living the dream, saving lives… making a difference…” Alya’s eyes grow all misty for a second, but she’s as fierce as ever. Like a dragon. A very cute, very serious dragon. 

 

“I am, aren’t I…” Queen Bee says, almost to herself, but not really because that would be weird. “And I’m so good at it too…” 

 

“I’d do anything to be that close to the action.”  Says Alya wistfully.

 

_ Now’s your chance- remember confidence is key.  _

 

“This place is getting kind of boring.” She says and has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from turning bright, bright pink.

 

She swallows and stands up, her wings shooting out of her back.

 

“We should go somewhere else.” 

 

Alya’s grinning wide. She grabs her hand and Queen Bee pulls her close, until their faces are just inches from another, until Chloé can feel her hot breath against her neck. She smells like mint and cinnamon, and brown sugar, sharp and sweet. Intoxicating. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, wonders if Alya can hear it too.

 

They’re close enough that they could kiss, and Queen Bee finds herself wondering if Alya’s lips taste as good as her hair smells. She shakes the thought from her head, and repositions Alya so she’s on her back, in between her wings. The weight is surprisingly bearable. Must be another benefit of being Queen Bee. 

 

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Asks Alya, and Queen Bee smirks.

 

“Of course.” She says. “What- are you doubting me or something?”

 

Although secretly she’s been wondering the same thing. 

 

“Hang on-” Says Alya, reaching around Queen Bee. “Let me get my phone.”

 

“Naturally” She says back, secretly thankful that Alya can’t see how red she is right now. She gives herself a little pinch. Tries to think about things other than the fact that Alya’s pressing into her back, her arms wrapped around Queen Bee’s neck.

 

Her wings start working like mad and in a few minutes they are in the air, the ground slowly but surely disappearing beneath them.  A few Parisians look up from their coffees and newspapers, and totally mundane conversations about like, taxes or something. She gives them a little wave but almost drops Alya so she stops.

 

This is the closest the two of them have ever been. This is the closest she’s ever been to anyone really.

 

It’s kind of nice. It’s really nice, actually. The kind of thing she could really get used to.

 

_ This isn’t a date _ She reminds herself, except she really doesn’t care. Because it might not be a date yet but she’s sure as hell gonna make it one. Maybe not now, but eventually.

 

Alya gives a little gasp, and Queen Bee almost dies inside from sheer joy. It’s a foreign feeling, her head lighter and higher than they are, the way her stomach is fluttering, how her heart just aches being in Alya’s presence. She closes her eyes for a second and takes it in. 

 

“Hold on.” Queen Bee says, almost a whisper because she’s almost certain Alya’s gonna love this.

 

She retracts her wings very quickly and they start to fall, towards open traffic, the wind rushing in their faces.

 

“What are you  _ doing? _ ” Says Alya, almost screams it really, dragging out the  _ ‘doing’  _ as long as she can. Still, she wraps her arms around tighter and Queen Bee realizes she’s hooked.

 

She grins.

 

“I said- hold on- unless you wanna die or something.”

 

They’re barely feet from traffic, from hitting the road and the cars and splattering everywhere, when Queen Bee shoots straight up at the last minute.

 

“I told you I know what I’m doing.” She says, but Alya’s laughing too hard to really be paying attention. 

 

She can’t really blame her. She’s started giggling too.

* * *

 

It gets late and Queen Bee drops down onto part of the Eiffel Tower. For a few minutes, they sit there, their feet dangling off of the edge, Alya staring at the view with wide eyes, Queen Bee staring at her. Her cheeks are a little red. It could be because of the wind nipping at their noses- the beginnings of what could be a storm on the horizon but Queen Bee allows herself to think that Alya’s blushing. That she likes Queen Bee almost as much as Queen Bee likes her.

 

Which is perfectly reasonable. She doubts Ladybug would give her a bird’s eye view of the city like this.

 

For a little bit, Queen Bee allows herself to let go of revenge and Ladybug and the feelings in her chest she doesn’t quite understand yet, and closes her eyes and tries to soak it all in, where she’s at, who’s she with. For the first time since she can ever remember, Queen Bee pushes aside herself, and how great her hair looks and how awesome she must look in spandex. And for a brief period of time, Queen Bee starts thinking about someone other than herself.

 

It starts to grow dark, and the Eiffel Tower lights up all around them and so does Paris, and so does Alya.

 

Queen Bee has only seen real stars a few times out of the city and even then, she’d been more interested at staring at her phone or her hair than looking up towards the sky. But she sees them tonight reflected in Alya’s eyes and it makes her spine tingle.

 

It grows later too, and at first they are both quiet, but then Queen Bee asks Alya about why she loves superheros so much, and Alya asks Queen Bee about what it’s like being one and for a while they stay like that, just talking. 

 

She learns about Alya’s siblings and her mother and a little bit about her best friend, although that last part she hadn’t really wanted to know about. She learns about what life was like before Alya moved here, and the comics she read growing up. And it should be terribly boring, except it isn’t. It’s mesmerizing-  _ she’s _ mesmerizing, and Queen Bee’s nothing more than a side character, and it feels fantastic. 

 

All of Paris may be spread out before them but Queen Bee feels like it’s just the two of them. And it’s the best feeling in the world.

 

It gets late, and it starts to rain- softly at first then suddenly pouring, and Queen Bee’s suddenly aware of how late it really is.  Alya climbs on her back, and Queen Bee flies her home as best she can- although it’s terribly dark and practically impossible to see. They’re both soaked to the skin when they get there. 

 

But it’s alright. More than alright really. She’s never been better, never been happier.

 

She thinks about it when she closes her eyes that night, Alya… the Eiffel Tower, all of it. It’s four in the morning, or maybe later (time seems sort of skewed now, seconds dragging on and those hours with Alya terribly brief) and all she can see is the way Alya smiled that night. 

 

She falls asleep thinking about cinnamon and brown sugar, and mint.

* * *

 

The weekend comes and goes, painfully slow and boring. 

 

She fights Akumas. She talks to Mireille. She avoids Ladybug.

 

But mostly she just thinks about Alya and the way her eyes sparked that Friday night. And wonders when she’ll be able to see her again.

* * *

 

Chloé sees Mireille briefly in the hall and gives a little wave, taking slight satisfaction when Mireille smiles back. It’s brief, and a little awkward on Mireille’s end, but she knows who Chloé is and that’s good.  

 

_ She must be nervous. _ Thinks Chloé, and she smirks.  _ It’s not every day you see your alter ego’s bestie at school.  _

 

Chloé gets to her locker and does the combination real quick, before stuffing the weekend’s akumas in the far corner. She checks her reflection in the mirror just briefly, before giving herself a wink.Then she shuts the door before anyone else can see what's inside.

 

_ Confidence is everything.  _ She thinks, and wonders briefly if she should print that out and get it framed to hang in her locker. Then she laughs. Please. Like she needs reminding. 

 

She turns around, still smiling and finds her face to face with Sabrina. Who’s grinning awfully wide. For a second, she panics, and tries to think about what she’s forgotten. Isn’t her birthday coming up? She thought it wasn’t for another few days.”

 

“Oh wow! Did you do something new to your hair? It looks really good!” Sabrina says, as grating as ever, and Chloé tries not to show how relieved she was to hear that.

 

She knew she got the date right. She’s perfect! Why wouldn’t she?

 

Chloé laughs- all awkward and high pitched, but Sabrina seems to buy it and it puts her mind at ease. 

 

“This?” She says, posing her head just right. “It’s only the latest style for casual updos. I’d be a social outcast not to.”

 

It’s the same hairstyle she twisted up for Queen Bee, and for her sort of but not really date with Alya, and she’s actually grown more than a little fond of it.  She’s considering keeping it. She never knows if she’ll have to transform after all.

 

“That’s super cool, Chloé! I wish my hair was long enough so I could try it!”

 

“Please. You could never pull it off. Just stick to your bob.” Chloé says, and brushes a stray curl around her ear just because. Out of the corner of her vision, she spots Alya and Marinette and they lock eyes for a second before Alya steers Marinette away. It sends a chill running down her spine, and she pulls her cardigan tighter, and tries to keep moving. She’s already frozen in place.

 

_ Shit.  _ She thinks, except she ends up whispering it instead. There is nothing subtle about her paranoia. Nothing subtle about her secret identity apparently either.

 

_ She knows, doesn’t she. _

 

And then, a few seconds later?  _ How? _

 

“Is there something wrong?” Asks Sabrina, and Chloé laughs.

 

“As if! The only thing ‘wrong’, is Lila’s choice in lipstick.” She says, and wonders briefly that if she says it loud enough, it will actually be true.


	16. Honesty's the Worst Policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue, quick note about French Cafes before we get started:
> 
> A diabolo is lemon/lime soda with syrup, a diabolo menthe is lemon/lime soda with mint flavored syrup added, a diabolo grenadine is lemon/lime soda with pomegranate soda and so on.
> 
> You should try them, they are delicious.
> 
> Mineral water is super big too.
> 
> Coffee is very rarely served like it is in American Coffee shops. I'm not even sure if there are Starbucks in France. Most of the time there isn't even milk and the servings tend to be smaller.
> 
> Orange juice is served like lemonade, with water and sugar.
> 
> There is very little processed food, and ice in drinks is pretty American.
> 
> This has been a psa, sorry for the long note, i'm lowkey very passionate about proper research.

 

* * *

_Like all terrible things, he strode right in and swept her away, with his charmingly awkward smiles, and stupid little tail coat. I'm not sure what he loved more- her or winning._

_Then again, who am I to talk? I would have done anything to get rid of that stupid bird._

* * *

Chloé dreads her next meeting with Alya. She thinks about it during class, and that night when she tries to go to bed, and in her morning bath when she tries to think about anything but. She blasts XY louder and louder until it almost breaks her headphones, and she updates her social media until she hits post limit. She shops until she almost drops, and does her makeup until her skin threatens to break out.

She can barely look at Alya in school either, without her stomach twisting, and she's a hair's width until she calls home sick.

She's practically a mess anyways. It's not like people wouldn't believe her.

What's worse is that Chloé can practically hear Alya whispering to Marinette from across the room. Like, not enough to actually hear what they're saying- but enough to know they're doing it, and enough for her paranoia to figure out that it's about her.

Who's she kidding? Of course it's about her! It's always about her- and when it comes to her suffering, there's no way they're missing out on the chance to talk!

She almost wishes she was Queen Bee, so she could actually make it out. Then maybe she could actually concentrate a little. She's practically driving herself insane from curiosity.

Finally Chloé can't take it any more and she raises her hand to excuse herself and go to the bathroom.

Mme Bustier sighs but lets her leave anyways. At least someone actually cares. Or- pretends to after all. That's the same thing right?

She gets up, and grabs her makeup bag, because she can't quite remember if she remembered to wear the non drippy mascara and she's not sobbing in the corner of the bathroom only to find out she's wearing the wrong mascara. She's not new to this. She recognizes what ugly crying does to people. Does to her.

Mme Bustier raises an eyebrow, but the bag's not clear and she's not wearing white pants so she's pretty sure she could play the period card if she really has to. As it is, she says nothing, and Chloé can't be more relieved. Especially when she notices that Lila's still sitting at her desk.

_Good._ She thinks. She's not sure if she has the energy to deal with that. Not right now. Not after yesterday.

Chloé locks the bathroom door behind her, and tries not to cringe when she slumps down onto the floor.

It was just a look. She's being ridiculous- and since when did she get worked up over something so small and insignificant anyways? She's gotten looks before, heard worse things about herself too, terrible things. The kind that weaklings like Marinette and Lila and Rose and Mylène cry over while someone a lot less comforting than she'll ever be hugs them close and tells them that it's alright.

It's not like she needs that anyways. She's got plenty of friends, good friends even, connections as far as the eye can see. She doesn't need that sappy kind of hug and kiss relationship anyways. Do they have a _Sabrina_? Certainly doesn't look like it.

Besides. It's just Alya. It's not like she mattered much before, why should something like this bother her this much? Screw crushes. She's gone her whole entire life without showing any sort of interest in anyone other than Ladybug and herself, who does Alya think she is waltzing into Chloé's life like this?

"You're being ridiculous- you know that right?" Says Zeezle, and Chloé frowns.

"I forgot about you." She says, and sniffs a little. She should have brought tissues. What type of person goes to a bathroom and doesn't bring tissues- huh? And she'd rather die before she used paper towels or toilet paper. There's no way that's hygienic.

Zeezle scoffs. It would almost be cute- if it was any kwami other than Zeezle that is.

"You wish." She says. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

_Believe me, if it meant I wouldn't have to get rid of my miraculous- I would._ She thinks sourly, and almost smiles. Almost being a key word.

"What do you want?" Says Chloé. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you."

"Why do you always think I want something?" Asks Zeezle, then shakes her head. "Nevermind don't answer that. Why are you here anyways? I thought you hated touching the floors of public bathrooms."

"I'm being paranoid." She says, and gives a little sniff. She can literally feel the snot dripping from her face right now and it's making her skin crawl. "And, it's cleaner than the toilet."

"You're such a drama queen." Says Zeezle. "I'm sure whatever it is you've done this time it will all go away if you'd just be open and honest."

Chloé takes a deep breath, starts to stand. "You aren't very helpful." She says. "Aren't you supposed to like, advice me or something?"

Besides she's almost certain that would make things worse.

Zeezle laughs. Once again her personality ruining something that would normally be precious. She'd strangle her if she thought she was able to get away with it.

"I would if you'd let me. And you're a little shit of a miraculous wielder so it's not like you'd actually."

"Please. I'm a fantastic superhero and I'm an even better person." _Alya would be lucky to figure out my identity- there's no way she's smart enough to connect the dots. Not when I've done everything to keep them as far away as possible._

That last part goes unsaid. She's shown enough weakness today already, why be even more pathetic then she's already felt?

Whatever Zeezle tried, it works. She feels more like herself than ever before.

* * *

The first thing Chloé does when she gets back to class is pack up her bag, and call her driver.

"I'm going home sick." She says- before Mme Bustier can ask what she's doing. "If you have a problem you can talk to my Daddy about it, _the Mayor_."

She's sure to enunciate that last part. It's about time people remembered who she is. Who her daddy is. Then she sniffs, and sort of smiles, and walks out of the classroom, a thousand eyes on her not daring to speak up.

_Good._ She thinks, and pulls out her credit card from inside her purse. _It's about time I did something for me._

* * *

Her driver says nothing, not when she says to drop her off at the nearest boutique, not even when she swears him to secrecy and asks him to pick her up around the time that school lets out so her daddy doesn't suspect a thing. It's not like he'd care or anything, maybe about his reputation sure, but she's not stupid. Not with that _long live the king_ bull shit from forever ago. The only fate she'll be tempting today is with her credit card.

She wonders, briefly, if she can beat her old record with maxing it out today. Wonders if she should replace all of her wardrobe or just half of it. Wonders if afterwards she should pick up something to eat.

Shopping always gives her that fluttery, spinning feeling in her stomach. There's nothing she finds more relaxing, more _liberating_ than seeing those numbers rise on a register. If anything can make her feel more like her than before it's this. It's a shame she doesn't have more than a few hours. She could really use a nice salon trip too.

Chloé's phone buzzes briefly right before she enters her first boutique- someplace shiny and high end and just expensive enough not to be gaudy- and she doesn't even look at it for more than a few minutes before she puts it on silent and slips it in her back pocket. Whatever it is, it can wait.

She has an almost date to prepare for. And- brief scare or not, she's gonna make it a thousand times better than the last.

* * *

Queen Bee frowns, and gives herself a once-over in the mirror before finally grabbing the brand new leather jacket she'd bought and slipping it on.

_Perfect._ She thinks, and gives a practice spin. Now it almost feels like a date.

_No more lies- remember?_ She thinks, and gives her reflection a wink.

Aesthetics aside, there is a certain necessity to all this effort. If she's learned _anything_ from years of trying to get people's attentions, it's that appearance is everything. Judging books by their covers and all that. How else is she supposed to swoop Alya off of her feet if she doesn't look her absolute best?

She wouldn't have fallen for her if she didn't have good taste.

Queen Bee gives another, very Rose like spin. Partially because she feels like it, because just thinking of Alya makes her feel like she's floating, but also because she needs to take one last look to make sure that this is the outfit she wants. She's this close to adding a tiara. That's how serious she's taking this.

Everything seems to be perfect, and she's sprayed enough hairspray to not only suffocate anything in a five meter radius, but completely protect her hairdo from anything Hawkmoth can throw at her. She's packed emergency combs, concealer and lipgloss into her bag as well as a black lace beret if by some ungodly abomination, Hawkmoth actually does get past her defenses. Just in case. A girl can never be too safe, after all.

Still, if she doesn't leave now, she'll be late and she can't have that.

Whatever amount of effort Queen Bee has put into her appearance, Alya's put half. Maybe less.

She's sitting there wearing the same plaid as always, and tying her hair back from her face, and wearing the same set of converse she usually does. And if it was anyone else, she'd find it boring.

But it's her, and it's surprisingly charming, because no one else Queen Bee knows can wear that little makeup and still look stunning. (She almost wants to scream. Alya's practically taking over her life at this point.)

She's getting a little red, and she takes a deep breath, and tries to think about other things instead. Like shopping for shoes or spa trips, things like that. It works for a bit, and she orders a diabolo menthe to cool herself down, and sits next to Alya, trying to look as indifferent as she can. Which doesn't work, not even a bit.

Because as excited as Queen Bee is to see Alya, Alya's almost as disgusted to see her.

"I see why you didn't tell me." Says Alya, her voice painfully monotonous. "I mean there is no way I would've helped you if I had any idea who you were. Guess they give out miraculouses to just about anyone these days- or were you lying about that too?"

Queen Bee wants to say something, she really does. And she tries but her legs have turned to lead, and her tongue is cemented to the roof of her mouth, so mostly she just stands there, and tries to decide if she's angry or hurt.

Mostly she feels like she was stabbed in the chest.

Alya gives a dry chuckle and starts to stand, adjusting the strap from her messenger bag.

"I hate people like you." She says, and walks off.

Leaving Queen Bee to just stand there.


	17. I Was Happier When We Hated Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty late ahhhh, 
> 
> Sorry. I was distracted, one of my other fandoms recently had a new episode, and it only updates every few months so it's a pretty big deal for us. (The fandom that is.)
> 
> Chapters will probably be weekly again as I build up a queue for the school year, mayyybe biweekly if they are short, but they will probably be longer? I dunno.

* * *

 

_ You’d think that dumb bird would’ve given up on flirting with a woman with no face- especially when it was crystal clear that she had no interest in him whatsoever.  _

 

_ Or maybe she did and I was just too blind to see it. Love is like that sometimes. It has a habit of biting back when you least expect it. _

* * *

 

Queen Bee slumps face-first on her bed and tries not to feel like the world’s biggest failure. She stays like that for a good few minutes, completely silent and still transformed. She’s not ready to be Chloé yet. Not today- not ever. Not when Alya knows who she is. Not when she hates her more than before.

 

Except she doesn’t just hate Chloé now- she hates Queen Bee too.

 

She thinks she’s gonna be sick.

 

She detransforms in a flash of light, completely unsure if it’s all her or Zeezle, or the timer itself. 

 

All she knows is that she isn’t alone right now. She hasn’t decided how she feels about that yet.

 

“She hates me.” Says Chloé, because being with Zeezle is better than being with no one at all. “She actually said it outloud- she hates me.”

 

“She doesn’t hate you.” Says Zeezle, who’s now awkwardly patting her head in an attempt at being sympathetic. It’s almost pitiful enough to make her laugh.

 

Almost.

 

Chloé rolls over onto her back, the beginnings of a sob shaking her body. 

“She does. She was supposed to love Queen Bee! Now she hates both of us.”

 

“You and Queen Bee aren’t separate- she can’t hate both of the same person- if she hated you as Chloé, she was going to hate you as Queen Bee too.” 

 

“How is that supposed to be reassuring?” Asks Chloé, her voice cracking.

 

She can’t start crying now, she has dinner in an hour.

 

How could she eat though? The way her stomach’s twisting and turning she’d only vomit it back up.

 

Zeezle sighs, and stops patting her, flying in front of Chloé’s face instead. 

 

“This isn’t the end of the world.” She says, and tries to smile. “You’re young, you have time to move on.”

 

Except it is.

 

* * *

 

Chloé doesn’t sleep that night. She tries, for a bit, squeezes her eyes shut and drowns herself in more blankets than she even needs- until she’s sweating through her nightgown and her skin feels like it’s boiling. She rolls over halfway through the night and falls on to the floor with a painful thump. Where she stays for another hour.

 

Everytime she closes her eyes, she sees her sitting there at that cafe, her mouth pulled into a frown, practically blazing with hate. 

 

_ I hate people like you. _

 

She tries to think about that night on the Eiffel Tower, tries to think about the way Alya looked that night, how her eyes sparked. How when it started sprinkling, the water droplets looked like diamonds in her hair. How she wanted to brush away a wet lock from her face, and lean in and kiss her over Paris, the rain pouring onto them. 

 

Her lips probably taste like cinnamon. They certainly smelled that way.

 

It works, for a few seconds, but it’s bittersweet and makes her stomach hurt, and it’s far worse than anything she ever could have imagined on her own. 

 

Before she realizes it, she’s crying. Really crying too, her body shaking, her eyes burning. 

 

She curls tightly into a ball, and pulls the rest of her blankets onto the floor with her, and tries desperately to forget.

 

Chloé wakes up on the floor a few hours later, looking and feeling like shit. She stands up and wrapping her blanket around her, stumbles over to her bathroom and starts up a bath. Mostly she tries not to look in the mirror.

 

Her alarm’s still screaming and she turns it off, and rips the battery out so by some terrible stretch of fate it won’t start up again. She wouldn’t be surprised if it did at this point. Her luck’s been on the fritz since forever.

 

Her bath fills up, the water hot enough that she cringes sliding in. Normally she’d drain it and run it again, but she’s miserable and it doesn’t matter anyways. 

 

Not when Alya hates her. Not when she’s planning revenge right as she sits.

 

Chloé turns on some XY to make her feel better, then some sitcom when that doesn’t work, and some american reality show when that fails as well. Then she sits there in silence. 

 

She tries to motivate herself to wash her hair, or maybe even throw in a bath bomb or something, but she can’t. It isn’t worth it. Why should she even bother coming to school today anyways? That’s just gonna make things worse.

 

Seeing Alya in class and in the halls, seeing her laughing and teasing and whispering about her from behind her back like it’s all just some joke. Like she didn’t tear out Chloé’s heart and throw in garbage. Like she’s some sort of monster.

 

_ What a bitch. _ She thinks, and sinks lower into the bath. 

 

She says it again, only outloud and in a whisper, causing bubbles to rise to the surface. It feels good and she says it a third time, a little louder. And again because fourth time’s the charm. 

 

For a bit, her heart stops feeling so hollow and fills with something a little like rage, because why should she be so hung over someone who said she hated her and accused her of lying? Alya was the one who made a big deal about honest and trust- she can’t expect Queen Bee to tell her everything on the spot like that. 

 

She should have been more trusting. Alya had no idea what she was talking about, what being Queen Bee was like for a second. 

 

Her blood boils in her veins and she throws a bath bomb against the side of the tub. It bounces off and drops it into the water, turning it bright pink and glittery.

 

She’d rather hate Alya than love her anyways. It’s much easier.

* * *

 

Chloé doesn’t go to school that day, because she doesn't feel like it. For a while she just stays in the bath, glowering except the water grows cold and the bath bomb she’s thrown in floats to the bottom and it’s a little gross so she stands up, and grabs a towel. She considers going shopping, except that requires getting dressed and she’s not sure she wants that kind of commitment.

 

Besides. She kind of wants to punch something even more. 

 

She twists her still-wet hair into a bun and transforms into Queen Bee. Then she climbs out of the window and looks for something to fight.

 

Luck must be on her side for once because she finds an akuma an hour into patrol, some street vender miffed about a health inspector's grumpy evaluation or something like that. There’s already been a food themed villain anyways (she would know he tried to kidnap her and turn her into soup) so either Hawkmoth is getting unoriginal or there are a lot of very angry chefs in Paris. Might be a little bit of both actually.

 

Either way she has found her punching bag for today, so it doesn’t matter. She’ll deal with a thousand others just like him if it means beating someone up. 

 

She defeats him up in minutes- five darts to the chest. And before she rips out his akuma, she punches him the face until he starts to wake up. She wants to see the horror in his face when his power is stripped away.

 

The blood is still there when she captures the akuma, although the damage isn’t, and she’s vaguely worried about her reputation and then she remembers Alya and figures it’s gone to shit anyways.

 

She’s certain she’s just waiting for a chance to reveal her identity anyways. She deserves to take her anger out on something.

* * *

 

There’s the tiniest bit of blood on her hands. She doesn’t notice until she’s back in her room, and even then she figures it will be gone as soon as her time runs out. 

 

Queen Bee tries not to think about it. She wants to enjoy her last few minutes of being Queen Bee as long as she can, feel the high that comes with it. 

 

As soon as her miraculous recharges or whatever, she’ll run out there again and see what else she can find. Maybe go for a long fly as well.

 

Anything to keep her busy. She can’t bear the idea of being the other her for longer than a few minutes.

 

Especially since this is the form Alya’s determined to hate.

 

There’s a knock at the door, and the crackle of an intercom and she panics and detransforms super quick, until she’s Chloé again, and the illusion of being someone else is gone.

 

She takes a quick look at her hands, and is horrified to see them stained red from where the akuma’s blood splattered onto her knuckles and palms. Her stomach twists. She thinks she’s going to be sick.

 

“....Miss Bourgeois?” Says someone- maybe Monsieur Moustache , although it's hard to tell from the intercom alone. 

 

She doesn’t answer. She’s not in the mood for this. Just buries her face in her sheets and holds her breath to keep from crying. Not now. Not where she can be heard.

 

There’s an almost silence- the only sound coming from intercom interference. And then, someone sighing.

 

“Miss Bourgeois- I know you’re there.”

 

“I’m busy.” She says. “Go away. I don’t need anything.”

 

“Miss Bourgeois-” 

 

_ “I said I’m busy!”  _ She snaps, her voice cracking. (She’d better not start ugly crying- she swears she’s been holding it this entire time.)  “Don’t you have better things to do?” 

 

This is the part where he’s supposed to go away. This is the part where he connect the dots or gives up, or just straight up leaves. This is the part where she’s alone. Where she suffers in silence or something emo like that. (Is this what Juleka does? No it can’t be- she’s got Rose. They’re probably kissing or something. Why does she get to be happy?)

 

Except he doesn’t. Just sighs again and keeps talking. 

 

“Miss Bourgeois, is there a reason you haven’t answered your phone all morning?” 

 

There’s something carefully calculated about the way he says, and she’s more than certain that it’s Monsieur Moustache then ever. 

 

“It died.” She says. “And I forgot my charger. Besides it’s not like I missed anything important.”

 

“You father would say otherwise. He worries, you know.”

 

She almost laughs. Her father doesn’t give two shits about her as long as she’s happy and out of his way, and neither did her mother, if her memory is correct. It's a system that works for everyone really. Two parties getting what they want, when they want.

 

He doesn’t have to worry, just has to absolutely adore her -which he does and she’s got the credit cards to prove it. 

 

“What- so I have to call during school now? How am I supposed to learn if I have to check in with him every few minutes- huh?” 

 

Her voice cracks again and the beginnings of a sob wrack her body. She’s never had to be so quiet about crying before. It’s making her chest ache- although that might just be Alya.

 

_ That bitch.  _ It feels good to say that, even in her head and for a few minutes she thinks it again, and laughs a little.  _ That bitch!  _

 

“Miss Bourgeois- you and I both know that’s not what you were up to.” 

 

“Are you calling me a liar?” She says. It comes out high pitched and rushed, and she cringes a little. “Does my Daddy know about this? I could get you fired.”

 

Monsieur Moustache sighs- she’s pretty sure that’s the third time he has but who’s counting- and she starts to stand, because she can’t take this- not right now, not today.

 

“Miss Bourgeois, your father is the one who sent me.” He says it so softly she almost doesn’t hear it at all, and after she does she wishes she hadn’t.

 

“So what?” She says, as flippantly as she can, because the more confidence she has the less likely she is to break down crying. “It doesn’t matter anyways. Daddy’s got a giant trust fund building up for me when I turn 18, and naturally I’m gonna inherit the hotel too as well as marry some rich old man. It’s not like I need to go to school.”

 

He clears his throat, and a chill shoots down her spine.

 

“I’m sorry to say this, Miss Bourgeois…” Monsieur Moustache begins in that sickly sweet way that people use when they pity you. The same tone she’s spent years of her early childhood hearing, over and over again until people learned not to bring it up.

 

_ ‘I’m sorry about your mother, Chloé.’ _

 

_ ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t go, Chloé.' _

 

Now she  _ knows  _ she’s gonna be sick. 

 

She’s never been more repulsed in her life.

 

“Well?” She snaps, because the anticipation is killing her and she wants him to go away.  _ The sooner the better.  _ She thinks.

 

“You’ve been cut off.”

 

Chloé blinks and sits up.

 

It takes a few minutes for the words to sink in, and even then she doesn’t quite get it. 

 

Cut off? That’s ridiculous- there’s no way.

 

“You can’t be serious!” She says- no shrieks. “There’s no way- I’m supposed to inherit everything- he can’t do this!”

 

Her heart is racing. She needs a minute to think things through, to organize her thoughts a little better. 

 

The room is so dizzy… she’s certain she’s gonna faint...

 

“It’s only temporary- but the effects will be immediate. Already all of your credit cards have been terminated and all future shopping will be based on necessity instead of-”

 

“No!” She says, not caring one bit that she’s interrupting him. Besides- maybe if he doesn’t finish it won’t be true, maybe she’ll find out it’s all a dream or a mistake, or something.

 

She’ll take anything at this point. She isn’t picky. 

 

“He’s only doing this because he’s worried about you.” Says Monsieur Moustache. “Your behavior has been rather problematic lately, and with the incident from a few months ago it isn’t hard to believe he’s a little more protective than usual.”

 

Chloé takes a deep breath. She’s practically shouting now- her voice is so hourse.

 

“That wasn’t my fault though! It’s not like  _ I  _ was the one who akumatized him or anything so why’s he punishing me?!”

 

“This isn’t a punishment, Miss Bourgeois. It’s an opportunity. You haven’t been the most considerate of people lately, perhaps this will be a bit of a rude awakening.” 

 

She starts to shout something back, but the intercom buzzes off and when she swings open her bedroom door to see if he’s still outside, all she finds is today’s lunch.

 

She screams anyways. It feels good to let it out.

* * *

 

Chloé scrubs and she scrubs, but the red on her hands doesn’t wash off. 

 

She ends up covering it in concealer when she finally comes down for dinner, and afterwards she ravages through her closet until she finds a pair of silky white gloves.

 

She won’t be able to cover it up forever. But at least she can hide it.

* * *

 

Chloé has always hated Wednesdays, and today isn’t any less of an exception. She tries to get out of it, tries to skip again and say she’s sick, except it doesn’t work and Monsieur Moustache makes her come anyways. As it is, she’s barely there on time, running into Mme Bustier’s a complete mess of stray hairs and partially applied lip gloss. Someone snickers. It’s probably Alya or Lila but she’s too humiliated to get a good look. Mostly she just wants the day to be over with.

 

She sits down and Sabrina slips her her homework- make up and all and she sniffs gratefully before stuffing it into her bag, next to the akuma from yesterday. She touches the lid of the jar gently, and for a split second considers unscrewing the lid. 

 

_ No.  _ She thinks, and briefly recalls Sleepless Beauty and how much of a pain she’d been to recapture.

 

Although it would be the perfect distraction…

 

Sabrina’s still smiling wide, and tapping her nails excitedly.  Chloé’s a little curious why- she’s bored and kind of sad/mad and looking for a distraction, and Sabrina’s interests, as boring as they usually are, are better than nothing.

 

She  _ could  _ ask her. But trying to figure out why takes up a lot more time.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she gives Sabrina a onceover. Her clothes are the same, another run of the mill, lame-o sweater vest and super tacky shorts, and her hair seems the same length as before. She is wearing a small button on the sleeve of her shirt though. She can’t quite read it at this angle, but if she adjusts herself just right she can make out-

 

_ Shit!  _

 

She’s been so distracted by Alya lately, there’s no way she could have remembered. It’s such a terrible time of the year for it anyways. Who’s born on a wednesday anyways? Gross.

 

She hadn’t even gotten Sabrina a gift. 

 

Didn’t she promise her one? She’s fairly certain she did. It would certainly be like her to do something dumb like that without thinking.

 

She’s such a mess today. She really should have stayed home today.

 

Chloé digs in her purse as discreetly as she can, looking for something- anything really that would constitute a decent gift. She finally finds a gold necklace with a bee on it- one of the many accessories she’s bought in order to look like Queen Bee. It’s simple enough that she can get away with it- not quite as fancy as her comb but enough that Sabrina doesn’t think she skimped out or something.

 

Still, she can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She’s still got it, still perfect after all. And it’s not like she can replace it with something better.

 

Chloé smiles, and tucks it into her pocket. Then she pretends to pay attention to Mme Bustier.

  
  


Chloé waits till passing period to give the necklace to Sabrina. 

“You really didn’t have to give me anything. “ Says Sabrina when she brings it up. “I mean the fact that you remembered is present enough!”

 

Chloé shrugs, and tries to ignore the twisting in her gut.  _ If I’d known that I wouldn’t have gotten you anything at all. _

 

“Close your eyes.” She says, instead because she just wants to get this over with. “I don’t think you’re smart enough to put it on yourself.”

 

Sabrina gives an annoying little squeal and clasps her hands together. She’s certain it’s supposed to be cute or something, and honestly if it were anyone else it would be.

 

“Oh I’m sure you’re right! I’m sure it’s absolutely fantastic!” 

 

If she has to take five more minutes of that grating enthusiasm she swears she’s gonna snap. She’s not sure how much of it she can take.

 

Chloé cringes as she pulls back Sabrina’s hair- although it’s more dry than greasy like she had suspected- and clasps the necklace on, being sure that the bee is facing the right way. 

 

“You can open your eyes now.” She says, and she hands Sabrina a compact mirror before stepping away and crossing her arms. 

 

Sabrina hesitates, and touches the necklace ever so slightly. For a second there’s a flicker of rage- although it’s so ridiculous that Chloé thinks she must have imagined it- except it’s gone and Sabrina starts to grin.

 

“It’s not a comb.” Says Chloé quickly. “There’s no way you could have pulled one off- not with how short your hair is, and it would've just been mean to but you one, so I got you a necklace. Think of it as…. A symbol of our friendship- yeah!” 

 

That’s believable- right? It’s single handedly the greatest bullshit she’s ever tried to bull but like, it’s totally believable.

 

SHe’s so good at this- even when she’s distracted. It’s gotta be illegal or something.

 

“It’s positively perfect!” Squeals Sabrina. She gives a little jump too, the necklace thumping against her dumb sweater vest. “You’re so kind, and considerate- there’s no one more thoughtful than you in the entire universe! Thank you so much, Chloé!”

 

“It really was thoughtful of me…” Says Chloé, terribly pleased with herself for the first time since forever. “I’m way deserving of a miraculous.” 

 

She doesn’t mean to say that last part out loud, but she does and she starts to turn a little red.

 

“I mean if I had one of course!”

 

“Really truly!” Says Sabrina. “You would be a fantastic superhero!”

 

Somewhere someone scoffs and Chloé whips around, only to be face to face with Alya.

 

Something drops in her stomach. She freezes for a second, before remembering that she’s got all the power here, that Alya’s practically nothing to Chloé. That she could suspend her without a moment’s hesitation or deport her or something equally terrible. 

  
And that this is the chance she has been waiting for.


	18. Sweet Dreams Aren't Made of This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so, the last chapter wasn't supposed to be cut off there. I've tacked it to the top of this one and I appologize for both that and the huge hiatus. Life's been a painnn.

 

* * *

_Sweet dreams are made of this_

_Who am I to disagree?_

_I travel the world_

_And the seven seas_

_Everybody's looking for something._

_Some of them want to use you_

_Some of them want to get used by you_

_Some of them want to abuse you_

_Some of them want to be abused._

_-Sweet Dreams are Made of This by Eurythmics_

* * *

Chloé smirks, and puts her hand on her hip.

"Wanna speak up?" She says, in what is sort of a hushed whisper.

Alya smiles sharply, and crosses her arms. It makes the hairs on the back of her next stand up.

She's cute even when she hates her, what the fuck.

"Yeah, actually. You've literally akumatized like half the student body, you constantly pick on the weak and the only person you care about is yourself. The only way you could even come close to getting a miraculous is if you stole it."

There's an akuma in her purse. It wouldn't be too hard to smash it onto the ground, cause her own personal disaster too. It would take seconds. Akuma multiply fast- isn't that what Sleepless Beauty taught her?

"Chloé is kind and wonderful and the most generous person in the world!" Shouts Sabrina, before Chloé has a chance to unscrew the lid. "Paris would be lucky to have her!"

Sabrina's bottom lip quivers. For a second, it's almost adorable.

For a second.

"It really would." Says Chloé. "And I'd be much better at it then you would- or your clumsy little friend."

She pulls her hand out of her purse and touches her comb ever so slightly. Then she readjusts her hair.

Alya's practically steaming and she starts to says something else, but Chloé turns around again.

She hasn't reached rock bottom yet. She shouldn't take such drastic measures until the very end.

"Come on, Sabrina" She says. "Don't want to be late for class!"

* * *

Chloé doesn't sleep that night. Granted, she doesn't sleep most nights these days but she really and truly doesn't sleep that night and it's not because of her usual insomnia.

She sees them from the corner of her eye at midnight patrol- a dark mess of purples and blues like a bruise and dark enough she almost mistakes them to be black. For a second, she wonders if she imagines it.

And then a second later a dagger whizzes just inches from her face.

Furious, she whips around, and shoots a dart in their general direction. It misses and hits the wall instead. The mass crushes it beneath their foot, before ducking back out of sight. She turns around, and shoots a second one, only to miss again.

Queen Bee dives for it before they can destroy another one. These darts don't grow on trees and she needs all the chances she can get.

" _My name is Cloak and Dagger- if you haven't already done so I would lay your miraculous down at your feet and surrender. I'll give you five minutes."_

Queen Bee laughs bitterly and loads another dart into her stinger.

"As if." She says. "I have all night- bring it on."

" _Fine by me."_ Says Cloak and Dagger- right before they leap off a building. She takes a deep breath, and dives down after them, following them into an alley. She wastes another dart trying to hit them but they dodge in the last second, and smash against a trashcan.

"Maybe you wouldn't have to hide your face if you weren't so ugly." She says, and ducks down really quickly before another knife can hit her.

They shimmy up a fire escape, and leap onto the roof of a building. She shoots straight up to follow them, but sees a blur of red and ducks out of sight before Ladybug can get a good look at her.

Shit. She thinks, and reaches for another dart although secretly she's a little relieved. She's not sure if she can even take them- not on her own.

She waits a few minutes. Tries to catch her breath.

When she leaps up again, Cloak and Dagger has vanished out of sight, and so has Ladybug and Chat. She swears, not so softly. This is gonna be a long night.

* * *

By the time she gets back it's seven in the morning. She doesn't even bother to sleep- just slaps on a ton of makeup and downs several cups of the strongest coffee she has. It makes her blood buzz but she's used to it. Hawkmoth hasn't been the most accommodating villain when it comes to letting her get some sleep lately. (Makes her wonder if he has been having nightmares too.)

She almost forgets about the red mark. Almost.

She's exhausted- not stupid.

Chloé doesn't bother with the concealer today. If her encounter with Alya was worth paying attention to, it's that it doesn't work or at least not very well. She slips on that pair of white gloves instead, thankful that it sort of matches her outfit.

Zeezle watches her the entire time, and frowns.

"What?" Chloé snaps. She doesn't have the patience for anything today- let alone Zeezle.

"You need to get that checked." Says Zeezle.

"That's ridiculous. It's just a mark, it'll fade in a few days."

She hopes.

"You _really_ need to get that checked."

Chloé slips on the leather jacket she bought for Queen Bee. There's no use _not_ wearing it, she decides. Especially since Alya already knows who she is.

"I told you- it's just a mark. Now stop being so useless and grab me my purse, okay?"

"Fine then." Says Zeezle. "I don't care what you think."

She knows that. It's nothing new.

"Do what you want." Says Chloé, grabbing her purse and stuffing Zeezle inside.

She does her best to try and forget about it- the mark, her absolute lack of sleep, everything.

* * *

Sabrina is absent today.

Chloé figures it out the second she walks into class. Mostly because she's late and it's about to start soon anyways and why the fuck isn't her homework already out so she can stamp her name on it, but also because she gets a text almost instantly saying that she's 'really, really sorry'.

She should be. Chloé's _never_ missed a day of homework, and with her daddy's ridiculous new curfew and spending rules, the timing can't be worse. She frowns and texts something back. Tells her to hurry up and come to school, and that friends don't do things like that to other friends- especially besties.

Besides, it's all sorts of unfair- isn't it? How come Sabrina gets to stay home and watch soaps or something when she, has to drag her cute butt to school?

Sabrina doesn't save Paris on a regular basis, or look cute in spandex.

Sabrina didn't have her heart torn still beating out of her chest by a cute yet cruel reporter.

She's probably sitting at home right now, all covered in blankets and pillows and those stupid/childish plushies she likes, snug as a stupid little bug.

She feels like screaming. This is the second time she's been betrayed by Sabrina this year, and it's getting old. She's not even sure if she's worth keeping around.

This is going to be one of those days, isn't it? She thinks, and crosses her arms. Fuck everything.

* * *

She almost falls asleep in class twice, the first in homeroom and the second in Mme Mendeleev's because the world seems to hate her.

The first time, no one bothers to do anything about it, and she dozes away half the period before waking up suddenly, screaming. She doesn't remember why, not all of it at least although she's left with a vague sense of being chased, and the thin line of drool coming from her mouth makes her wish she is still dreaming.

The second it's because Mme Mendeleiev cracks her ruler next to Chloé's face, snapping it in two.

"I don't tolerate slackers." She says before Chloé can say a thing. "Even if they have rich fathers to erase their permanent records."

Chloé says nothing. Tries to focus on Mme Mendeleev's rat's nest of a hairdo instead.

She swears she had a dream where that thing came alive and tried to eat her. Or maybe that's just because it looks so much like something the Horrificater would barf up.

She laughs softly to herself and turns to say that to Sabrina before she remembers that she isn't here.

Whatever. It's not like she doesn't have other friends. If Adrien wasn't sitting next to Nino, she's almost certain he would be laughing up a storm right now.

No. That's a lie and she knows it. Adrien has never found any of her jokes to be funny. She's not even sure if he's still speaking to her at this point.

Besides, he seems almost as exhausted as she is, practically asleep at his desk and if Nino wasn't poking him every few seconds he probably would.

That foolish fool Marinette's pretty tired as well now that she thinks about it, but that's normal for her so Chloé doesn't look too much into it.

Another day. One where she isn't half awake.

* * *

They are released for lunch, and Chloé goes home and spends half of her hour napping and the other half gulping down shots of espresso until her blood buzzes in her veins and she swears she's seeing double. She also adds another layer of concealer onto her hands. The red isn't showing yet, and she's not quite certain it will, but the idea of anyone else seeing it makes her cringe.

Besides, it helps her forget it's even there, even if it's only for a couple hours.

Once again Zeezle tries to talk about it but she brushes her off and grabs an extra thermos of coffee, as a just in case, before meeting up with her escort.

And then she's stuck in school again.

Sabrina isn't back yet, which is mildly frustrating but to be expected so she doesn't think too much of it, and at the last second, Marinette runs into class a piece of bread dangling from her mouth like some sort of cliche, and she couldn't be happier.

Chloé of course. Marinette must be miserable.

"Sorry." Marinette breaths. "I was… almost hit by a car! Yeah! But don't worry I'm perfectly fine and it won't happen again!"

Naturally, Mme Bustier smiles and waves, because it's her and she's a total pushover who falls for things like this all the time. She probably hadn't even noticed Marinette was gone. It's not like she's even here half the time.

She notices Adrien hasn't returned yet either, and she frowns and wonders if he's alright. She sends him a quick text which of course she's sure he won't notice straight away because he's probably modeling late, but Mme Bustier does and she takes up Chloé's phone before she has a chance to come up with a good excuse on why she has it out.

"You can have this back at the end of the day." She says, and Chloé tells her to be careful because it probably costs more than her paycheck.

In Chloé's defense she's most likely right. It isn't even out yet in Europe, and it's specially made, just for her, with an actual gold backing and a protective case guaranteed to live through a nuclear attack, let alone an akuma. _Jagged Stone_ can't afford a phone this fancy. She highly doubts that Mme Bustier can.

Still, it gets her sent to the principal's office with a note because apparently she struck a nerve/

Honesty sucks. It isn't her fault if Mme Bustier can't take a joke.

* * *

Sabrina doesn't come back to school the next day, and although Chloé sends her scans of the homework, it still stays unfinished, and she's on her own.

Even her texts remain unanswered.

She can tell they've all been read, can see the date and the time and occasionally those dumb three dots pop up so it's not like Sabrina is ignoring her or something. (As if she would, Chloé means the world to her.)

For a brief while she wonders if she should be worried, and then she shrugs it off and decides that there are better things to be concerned about. LIke herself, and Lila's hate blog. It's clear she'll go through desperate means or whatever to get revenge and it's clear that she should be taken more seriously.

And yet… she finds herself throwing all she's got into Queen Bee.

Because it's not like she has anything better to do.

Three school days have passed since Sabrina was first absent, and Chloé's locker is filled to the brim with akuma jars. She gets to school earlier than usual and adds one more, than covers them all with a silk sheet, and adds a few books in front. Because caution. Because she can't change anyone seeing them.

She's not sure what she'd do if all of them were opened at once. Die, probably.

"What's that in your locker?"

Chloé almost drops her last book, but then she realizes it's Sabrina and she relaxes. She puts it on the shelf and slams it shut.

"Nothing." She says, and slaps on a smile. "Where've you been? Why didn't you answer any of my texts?"

Sabrina laughs nervously and takes her purse without question.

"I'm super, duper sorry! I was sick and I wore your necklace for good luck and I _guess_ I got an allergic reaction or something and I had to go to the hospital and get tested! Which reminds me-"

Sabrina reaches into her pocket and pulls out a plastic bag with the bee necklace inside. She stares at it for a few minutes, looking determinedly disappointed, then sticks out her hand.

Chloé takes it, a little numbly. Something drops in her stomach.

"I really am very sorry." Says Sabrina. "It's just I couldn't bear to throw it away because it was a gift from you, which makes it extra special, but I also can't keep it because it gave me hives and blisters and this really bad rash-"

She takes a deep breath, nodding along to her own words like they're some sort of condemning gospel or something.

"I don't want the details." Says Chloé, because she's not so sure she can take any more of the sound of Sabrina's voice. "What about my homework? Did you get that done?"

(Loyal as she is, Chloé's always preferred Sabrina in small, very quiet portions at a time. More behind the scenes if anything.)

Sabrina's eyes well up in tears and she wipes them away with the sleeve of her turtleneck sweater. It doesn't help much. Or at all.

"I'm so sorry!" She hiccups. "My d-dad doesn't want me doing your homework anymore. He thinks you're a b- b-"

It's like a dam explodes. A snot filled dam, that's shaking and quivering and grabbing onto the sleeves of Chloé's leather jacket like it's the most precious thing in the world, but most definitely a damn.

" _He thinks you're a bad influence and I'm not allowed to hang out with you anymore!"_

Chloé slowly peels Sabrina's snotty hands off of her jacket. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Tries to process everything.

"I know if he just met you in person and saw what a great friend you are, and all the nice things you get me he would understand- I'm sure of it! And I'm so so sorry but he's checking my bag when I get home now to make sure and I'll never be able to go shopping with you and carry your bags, and I really am extra sorry- I swear! Could you ever forgive me?"

In truth, aside from having to do her own homework, none of this seriously affects her. She could care less what Sabrina's dad thinks of her- bad influence or not- and it's not like she can even go shopping anyways.

Still, what Chloé really wants is for the killer headache that's building up to go away, and that's simply not gonna happen if she's stuck listening to Sabrina blabber all day.

"Sure. Whatever. I don't care."

"But can you forgive me?"

Chloé sighs, and starts to pinch the bridge of her nose before realizing what she's doing and drops her hands by her side instead.

It makes her heart feel hollow. She tries to ignore it.

"I forgive you." She says, and tries to act like she actually cares. "Let's just… get to class."

* * *

Sabrina forgets her books and takes an eternity getting them out from her locker, but then again she was gone for an eternity so that's probably why.

She crosses her arms and taps her nails, and watches Sabrina fiddle around with her combination until she finally gets it and the door swings open. If she didn't know better, she'd say Sabrina was doing it on purpose.

But she does. And there's no way.

They still have plenty of time though, and although Sabrina almost trips and spills their books all over the place, they still manage to beat the bell by a while.

_Shit._

Her stomach drops the second they walk into homeroom, and she clenches her nails so tight she punctures her skin. She blinks. Then blinks again, because there's no way, this can't be good at all.

The classroom is practically empty except for Lila who's staring at something on her phone, the conversation from just a few minutes ago playing out loud and clear. Sabrina, bursting into tears, her apologies, everything. The type of thing someone like Lila could use against her. The type of thing she _would._

Shit. She thinks again. She'd say it outloud but her blood is boiling and her legs are numb and her vision is red, and she's not sure what else she'll say if she does.

She tries not to overreact. It's nothing, it has to be.

Except it's her and there's no way it's not.

Lila pauses the video and looks up, her mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Oh I didn't see you there." She says. "Really would be a shame if this leaked to the administrators- wouldn't it?"

Sabrina starts to cry again.

"I'm so, so sorry Chloé! I wouldn't have said a thing if I've known she was there."

"You don't have to apologize, Sabrina!" Says Lila, slowly like she's talking a young child. "You're just the victim here."

"I'm really not." Whispers Sabrina. "Ambushing poor Chloé like this, as if she deserves any of this!"

"Stay out of this Sabrina." Says Chloé, and maybe it's the lack of sleep or the look in LIla's eyes, or the fact that she's not sure what she has left to lose, but before she can comprehend what's happening she's punched Lila in the face.

Lila's phone hits the ground with a loud crack, and Lila herself staggers back, into a desk. Her nose is twisted weird. There's the tiniest bit of blood too, and then a whole lot and then it's pouring from her face and dripping into Lila's mouth.

For a second, LIla looks almost as frozen as Chloé feels. Her eyes are wide, and she slowly touches her nose with her fingers and stares at them, and then Chloé, and then back at her hand.

Chloé's panting, adrenaline pulsing through her veins, not sure if she should run, or break the phone or what. All she knows is that she should be horrified right now, but she isn't. She's furious, and sort of satisfied all at once. And she thinks she wants to punch Lila again.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds, they stare at each other, both gasping for air, both unable to move. And then Sabrina screams, and all hell breaks loose.

" _You… bitch!"_

Lila lunges forward and tackles Chloé and suddenly they're on the ground, rolling in between the desks and pulling out each other's hair. Lila manages to pull out Chloé's comb and she flings it to the side, and Chloé uses her hand to shove Lila's head against the leg of a desk, and grabs it back. She barely has time to put away, Lila's skull must be as hard as a rock, she is barely dazed and they are tumbling, tumbling down.

There isn't time for words, just screams and shrieks becoming so muddled up that Chloé can't tell who said what, until her throat's so hoarse she's almost certain she swallowed fire. Everything's so blurry too, all she sees is orange and red and gold. They pull onto each other's necklaces and tear out their hair, and she claws and punches her way on top only to be thrown down again, her hand slammed onto the floor. For a minute she sees stars and she wonders if she's unconscious because everything is so numb, but then Lila scratches her cheek with her nails and the pain brings her back.

_This is wrong- you should stop._

_Fuck that._

She can hardly breath, can hardly speak, can hardly scream and she thinks she's loosing. She hadn't realize that Lila was so strong. Maybe she's full of pent up rage as well.

She doesn't have time to ponder however, because Lila throws herself at Chloé again, and they roll across the floor, hurting and screaming and clawing. Maybe it's an hour maybe it's a few seconds or maybe they've been fighting forever and she's just now realizing it. There isn't room for time, just rage and pain and failed punches. Her ears are full of static. Static and blood.

Someone grabs Chloé from behind, pulls her away, red flashing in her eyes. She tries to pull free but she can't, they're too strong. Now she's the one screaming, terrible terrible things, the kind that if she was fully aware she would cringe, the kinds of things that would curdle milk, that would akumatize her and everyone who heard.

All she can hear is static, static and Lila laughing. It makes her blood curdle, and her eyesight go red, hot tears pouring down her cheeks.

She's ugly crying now isn't she? Dripping with snot, her chest heaving and her body shaking so hard she can hardly see, she must look so bad right now.

The next few minutes are a blur.

She's aware of being forced to stand, aware of screaming something -not even words at this point- aware of Lila and her dumb phone that's slipped far from her reach.

She's aware that her mascara's decided to run.

She's aware that her hair's falling out, that her comb is now apparently in her hands.

It's teeth bite into her skin.

Her hands are literally, already red. What's a little more blood gonna do?

Still it helps her focus, and her breathing slows until she's no longer gasping for air just sobbing, and things start to clear.

Chloé closes her eyes and inhales, sniffling loudly.

Then she opens them, and looks around, at Sabrina who's about to burst into tears, at Lila covered in claw marks, at Kim and Ivan, who're physically restraining her.

The crowd of students who've all come inside.

She looks at Marinette and Alya. Nathanaël. Myléne. Juleka. Rose. Max. Alix. Nino.  
 _  
Adrien._

His face is unreadable. Maybe it's concern, maybe it's fear, maybe it's disgust.

She knows Alya's disgusted. She's sure everyone else is too, that and afraid.

She's not sure if anyone's actually concerned though, like, genuinely. She's not sure if anyone's ever been concerned for her.

For some reason this forces her to choke down another sob.

"You were all supposed to love me." She says, but it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper. "Why don't you love me? "


	19. I’d Do it Again if it Meant Never Seeing Your Faces Again

 

* * *

 

_ She looked at me the same way I look at you. _

* * *

 

Everyone wins.

 

No, not really. Her father doesn’t win, Mr. Damocles probably doesn’t either, (although he always seems gloomy so perhaps he never does) and maybe she doesn’t quite either but the school ends up with a nice donation, and Lila ends up with a new phone, and this whole ‘incident’ doesn’t end up on her permanent record or whatever so she sort of wins as well.

 

To be completely honest, the only way  Chloé  _  does _ loose is with her suspension, and even then that’s only because it’s not longer or even better: permanent. 

 

She’d rather not think about it. But it’s a bit too late for that and she stares at her hands instead.

 

Her knuckles are still red. Nothing has changed.

 

Except it has.

_ She’s drowning in roses. _

 

_ They stuff themselves down her throat, and force thorns into her skin, until all she sees is red. _

 

_ Red petals... red lips... red hands... _

 

The car ride had been silent, and so is the walk into the lobby, and although it’s suffocating, it’s more than a little relieving as well. She should be allowed to feel like shit in silence. Now she can.

  
  


There's something both familiar and foreign in the way he turns away from her and refuses to make eye contact. Maybe not from him- he's always been proud of his little princess- but someone else? Someone with golden hair and a fox necklace? Someone who'd refused to acknowledge her?   
  
Someone she hasn't thought about in years?

 

She remembers, briefly, a photograph pressed behind a painting, it’s corner poking from the frame, and the smell of smoke when it burns in the fireplace. 

 

It makes her stomach sour. She’s not sure why.

* * *

_ If she closes her eyes, she can feel fingers scraping against the side of her face like brambles and lips searing against her forehead like brands, and if she opens them all she sees are the stars. _

* * *

  
  
Chloé  goes straight to her room and collapses onto her bed, not even bothering to wipe off her make up or change clothes. She buries her face in her pillow, and squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think about things other than today. Especially that look of disgust on Alya's face in the end. All scrunched up, and frowning. Like she's beneath her. Like she doesn't even care.   
  
Afterwards, as  Chloé  was being dragged to Mr. Damocles, she saw Alya leaning towards Marinette and whisper something in her ear. Something too soft to make out. Something that had to be about her from the way they started giggling.   
  
Just thinking about going back makes her want to start ugly crying again. 

 

She thinks she’s gonna be sick. She’s probably already sick- her head throbbing, her stomach twisting, her throat raw. She curls into a ball, as tight as she can manage and tries hard to swallow back another sob.

  
"It's not fair." She croaks. "It's not like I deserve this."   
  
Zeezle says nothing. Just floats over and presses her tiny body against  Chloé 's cheek.   
  
It makes her face feel warm and tingly. She kind of likes it.   


* * *

  
__   
_ She falls asleep faster than she thought she would. Her dreams are filled with foxes, slowly nibbling away at her skin, and staring at her with dark, soulless eyes. _ __   
_   
_ __ She wakes up a few hours later in a cold sweat, right before they reach bone. 

* * *

 

Chloe gets up at the crack of dawn for reasons she can't quite explain and transforms into Queen Bee for reasons she can.   
  
It's sort of a first for her-being up this early and not immediately drawing a bath or putting on her makeup, but then again this week is full of firsts so she tries not to look into it. First fight.. first suspension... if she cared more she'd wonder what's next.   
Her life’s chock full of good times. Simply miraculous.   
  
Queen Bee isn't looking for anything in particular,just flying about Paris and scaring the wits of any Parisian within a ten meter radius. One woman- clearly not from Paris- drops her purse when Queen Bee swoops down, and pulls out a can of pepper spray before dropping that as well.  Not quite the same greeting Chat and Ladybug would have gotten, but it makes her laugh.   
  
"Ungrateful." She says. "I'd do it again, you know. I'm too good for all of you!"   
  
She screams that last part, but her voice is still hoarse from the other day and it comes out more like a harsh whisper.   
  
No one replies. Good. She wasn't talking to them- was she?   
  
Some reason or another, Queen Bee finds herself veering towards the Eiffel Tower, but she turns at the last minute and flies towards Notre Dame instead. Arrives there in minutes- much faster than she thought she would. She would never have figured her wings were that fast.   
  
She finds somewhere to sit, high enough that she can watch the tourists but low enough that she's out of site. Doesn't want to give some old person a heart attack.   
  
She figures, if she's gonna do some Juleka-esque, dramatic brooding, she might as well do it right. Theatrics and all that.   
  
She's already sort of there, if she thinks about it. She's getting the gay thing- even if it's all levels of confusing-  and she thinks she can learn to love the color purple. Much better than pink. Much better than being happy go lucky, like Miss Sunshine and Smiles.   
  
How anyone can be that happy is beyond her. She must be hiding something big. Like a burn book. Like a closet full of last season shoes.   
  
Still... people actually seem to want to be around Rose. And that's more then what she can say for herself.   
  
"Fantastic." She whispers and tries to un-think that last thought.   
  
Because she totally wanted to think about everyone hating her on the top of a very tall building.   
  
Queen Bee sits up and wraps her arms around her legs, lowkey wishing she'd bought that cute leather jacket so she could wrap it around her shoulders like a blanket. She isn't cold or anything- not really, the suit takes care of that- but the pressure would be nice. A hug would be even better. She didn't even think she liked hugs that much except as a way of claiming someone as hers, but now that's all she can think about.   
  
  
Someone pressing their body against hers... warm and soft and comforting...   
  
Like that night on the Eiffel Tower. Except with someone who doesn't hate her.   
  
Which seems to be a bit of a problem as of late...   
  


* * *

 

_ “Who let you have a miraculous?” Alya says or Lila, or both of them at once, or neither? Someone’s saying it. Whispering it in her ear. _

 

_ It’s pitch-black. Everything is. It wraps around her like a snake and squeezes her tighter and tighter until everything is bright, bright red and she can hardly breath, hardly speak. _

 

_ Hardly scream. _

 

_ “Someone must have made a mistake. There’s no way someone as awful as you could ever save Paris.” _

 

_ She wakes up a few minutes later and stares at the ceiling, chest rising as she gasps for air. Then she closes her eyes. Goes back to sleep. Forgets it all a few hours later. _   


* * *

  
The sun starts to shift and it hits Queen Bee just right and it's almost the same as a hug but it really isn't. Still she closes her eyes for a few seconds and basks it in.   
  
She even crawls out of her corner and swings her legs off the roof, so the sun hits her just right. A few tourist see her and pull out their cameras. She waves and smirks. Shoots them a wink too.   
  
Because she wants too. Because they don't seem to hate her like everyone else does.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a flash, and she turns to pose only for her blood to freeze instead.   
  
Shit. She thinks, because it's him, it's the man from before, the one with the cane and that stupid red shirt. The one who practically assaulted her. The one who she's almost certain started this whole mess.   
  
He looks up, and shoots her what might be a smile but is probably a smirk and for a few, agonizing minutes their eyes lock and she turns to stone.   
  
Then he looks away and lifts up his camera and takes a picture of a stained glass window instead.   
  
Queen Bee closes her eyes and tries to breath. Her stomach's churning. Her heart's pounding.   
  
It's his fault. She thinks. It has to be.   
  
  
And then-   
  


_   
_ _ I have to find out why. _

* * *

 

Queen Bee doesn’t have to wait long to start following him.

 

The old man leaves a few minutes later and hobbles towards the nearest metro. She finds out his route and finds the exit, and waits for him to get off. She watches him call a taxi, and tries not to pull her hair out when it drives dangerously below the speed limit. 

 

Finally he hobbles into the world’s smallest shop, time slipping into eternity as he fumbles with his keys. He’s being frustratingly slow, she notices. If she didn't know better she’d think he knew she was there. That he was doing this just to mess with her.

 

Whatever bull shtick he may or may not be trying to pull, its working and she wonders, briefly, if its even worth all this effort for some tacky tourist who’s probably old enough to remember Pangaea. It wouldn't be that hard to leave. It would be for her to leave, to start flying and never look back, until she’s in England or maybe Italy, or anywhere else much,  _ much _ better then here, and filled with people much easier to be around then him.

 

Queen Bee waits a few minutes, then drops down the side and de-transforms. 

 

She tries to ignore the red on her knuckles, and her unkempt hair practically tossed into a bun. She tries to ignore her unwashed face, and the sweatpants swishing against her legs, and the fact that she isn’t quite sure what she needs more- a bucket full of soapy water or a breath mint.

 

Why she thought walking through the streets of Paris dressed like this is beyond her. This must be the week of terrible ideas.

 

Still, she takes a few minutes to breathe and close her eye, a not-so-valiant attempt to keep the ground from swimming under her feet.

 

And then she pushes open the door. 

  
And then she walks inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rewritten like a thousand times and I still lowkey hate it, and I'm sorry. Mostly because this is reaching John Gardner's 'Grendel' levels of edgy angst. The next one'll be up super quick. Maybe not tomorrow, but Wednesday or Thursday depending on how long it is?
> 
> Hoping to finish this for NaNoWrimo, lets see how it goes!
> 
> Happy Halloween btw!


	20. What Type of Sicko Walks Around Giving Weapons of Mass Destruction Anyways?

* * *

 

_He’s made mistakes before… Hawkmoth isn’t his first…_

 

_Funny to think I was one of them._

* * *

 

The first thing she notices is the smell.

 

It isn’t particularly obvious at first, and it takes Chloé a few minutes to catch on that it isn’t _just_ generic old person but it’s noticeable enough that she finds herself taking a few steps back.

 

Right into the door. Of course.

 

She takes a deep breath, inhaling that smoky-sweetness and decaying wood, and desperately hopes that it isn’t filled with asbestos. With her luck, it probably is. Not like the building’s brand new or anything. Not like it’s been cleaned in the last decade.

 

The churning in her stomach’s stopped however and so has the pounding in her chest so that’s gotta count as something. And she’s so close too… if she just follows that hall she’ll probably be face to face with the old fart and finally be able to give him a piece of her mind.

 

The thought sends a satisfying shiver down her spine and Chloé finds herself grinning wildly. Really, she doesn’t see why she was so worked up about him. It’s not like he has any actual authority over her or anything. He’s probably just some senile pervert following young girls around and slipping jewelry in their purses because of some delusion of something or the other. Something creepy probably. Something vaguely pedophilic. Who knows.

 

(Well he probably knows but that’s beyond her. As if she’d ever bother considering the motives of some half-baked nursing home escapee.)

  


She smiles even wider, and reaches the end of the hall or whatever, and finds herself face to face with another door. The smell’s gotten stronger. She tries not to breathe it in again. She’s already inhaled enough mold, thank-you-very-much.

 

Chloé doesn’t really expect the door to slide open as easily as it does, and she doesn’t quite expect it to be as thin as it is, and she certainly doesn’t expect it to crack when she slams it to the side, but it is and it does.  Open that is. Crack that is.

She’s not sure what she expected actually. She forgets it the second he opens his mouth.

 

“I hadn't expected you so soon. Usually my students tend to take their time.”

 

_This is wrong._

 

He isn't supposed to be this calm… isn't supposed to be waiting… Isn't supposed to have the upper hand…

 

She flinches- actually flinches and finds herself backing up towards the door, her hand reaching for her comb, but can’t seem to find the words to transform. She has to will herself to walk forward. Has to will herself not to run.

 

He smiles at her with that stupidly fake kindly-old-man shtick he’s always tried to pull, his eyes twinkling malevolently. She wonders if he lives here. There’s some sort of mattress-thing he’s sitting on, and she’s not quite sure if it’s minimalistic or just cheap. It’s hard to tell in a place like this. It very easily could be both.

 

“Have a seat.” He says, and she actually listens, tucking her legs beneath her body and trying not to imagine the layers upon layers of dead skin cells and dust mites that are probably coating her body this very minute. She cringes. If she wasn’t already dead set on showering the second she got home, she is now.

 

(Still, as much as she hates to admit it, the room isn’t nearly as filthy as she thought it would be. It’s almost pleasant, really, soft light pouring in… the lit candles… She’s certain if _he_ wasn’t there, she’d find it relaxing. As it is, all she wants to do is scream.)

 

He’s staring at her expectantly and she stares at him back in what she hopes is a glare but is really not, and they sort of stay like this for a good five minutes. She wonders how he’s able to keep smiling for so long… doesn’t it get tiring? Or is it some sort of mask or plastic surgery botch up, permanently gluing his face into a grin.

 

She bets it’s a little of both. He does look a little too turtle ish for comfort.

 

(With those turtle ish features he looks a little like a kwami… Maybe he is one… Maybe he’s some sort of kwami/ human fusion… Maybe he's an actual god and the kwami are his creations, made in his terrifying image…)

 

She shakes her head.

 

_This is ridiculous… I didn't come here to stare at some creep…_

 

_Just spit it out._

 

_When did you get so weak- huh? Before all this you would have chewed him out by now…_

 

Its because of him. He made her like this. He and that dumb comb…

 

She almost wishes she never found it in the first place. She knows she was better off before… She's practically certain of it...

 

“What the fuck is your problem?”  Chloé shouts or tries too, it comes off much too like a whisper to be much of anything.

 

The old man says nothing. Just raises an eyebrow. _Like he's better than her..._

 

Its terribly infuriating.

 

“You assault me on the street, slip some sort of magic comb into my purse then stalk me?? Who does that? What kind of sick perv thinks he can go around doing that to people? _To me?”_

 

Now she’s shouting. Her chest is heaving… tears threatening to spill… Heart pounding…

 

(It's a good thing she isn't wearing mascara…. She’s certain it would be running by now. Guess there’s one benefit to looking like trash.)

 

“And what's this shit about being your student? All you've done is terrorize me from day one and now you're trying to pass it off like it's some sort of teaching experience? Like I could actually learn something from some wrinkly old man thinking he’s wise or something. You’re lucky I haven't had you arrested by now.”

 

“i seem to remember you tripping me.” The man says, chuckling softly.

 

_Is this funny to you?_ She thinks. _You pretentious nasty little old fart…._

 

She doesn't deny it… She did trip him… She can't pretend like she wasn't planning on doing worse…

 

“Please. “ She mutters. “You totally deserved that.”

 

_Shouldn't have gotten in my way…_

 

_“_ Like you deserved that comb?”

 

_This feels like a trap…_

 

“Of course.” she says, but she hesitates.

 

The sour feeling in her stomach returns stronger than ever, and she finds she can't quite look him in the eye anymore.

 

She stares at her hands instead, fuming softly.

 

_How dare he turn this on me. This was supposed to be about him. About what he did._

 

They sit in silence for another few minutes and she starts counting off ways she can make his life miserable. Wouldn't take much really… A simple call to her daddy could close this place down for good and send him to the streets without a second thought. She could have him deported, have him banned from the city, have him sent as far as she possibly can and all it would take is a few choice words and a handful of partially true accusations.

 

The kinds of things that would give her father someone to blame. The kind that would let her off scot free.

 

She can't though, can she.

 

Not literally, she _is_ Chloé Bourgeois after all, she can do anything and everything she sets her mind to, but she can't let him win like this.

 

Especially with that crafty look in his eye…

 

_He probably wants this._ She thinks and instead of comforting her, all these revenge strategies make her hate him even more.

 

_He's probably been planning this from the very beginning._

 

_He's worse than Lila…_

 

“Is that all?” He asks and continues to smile that dumb grin of his.

 

_Of course not!_ She screams, although not outloud. _Everything was perfect until you came along and fucked everything up._

 

_You haven't even apologized yet. . ._

 

_I bet you don't even care..._

 

Still, she finds herself nodding and she starts to stand, brushing the rest of her hair out of her face. She pulls it back into a bun and secures it with her comb. It's a small act of defiance but it's there nevertheless.

 

_You aren't getting this back. I don't care if it's cursed, it's also the one good thing in my life right now and it's not like I'm gonna give you the satisfaction of me giving up._

 

“Thanks for nothing.” She says. “I hope you get a heart attack or something.”

 

And then she leaves before he can say another word.

“Well that was useless.” Chloé says once she’s gotten back to the hotel and collapses onto her bed.

 

Zeezle shrugs. Doesn’t deny it though...

 

“You should have asked him about your hand.” She says.. “He could’ve helped.”

 

“He’s just a senile old perv. And my hand’s fine.”

 

She gives it a glance, and tries not to notice how red it’s become, and how far its spread- over her fingers and onto her palm. The center is looking a little maroon. Reminds her of dried blood.

 

She tucks it under a sheet and tries to pretend like she isn’t worried. It doesn’t hurt or anything, it just looks weird. Probably means nothing.

 

_Yeah._

 

She thinks.

 

_Right!_

 

Zeezle says nothing, just clicks her tongue, and sprawls out on one of Chloé’s pillows. It’s frustratingly judgemental.  Like she knows something that Chloé doesn’t, like she’s seen it all play out a thousand times before and knows exactly how everything’s gonna end. Like her hand doesn’t actually mean anything, that it’s not just a mark, that it’s something a thousand times worse.

 

(And also because apparently being pretentious is pretty much Zeezle’s entire personality.)

 

“What?” Says Chloé because the silence is more than a little annoying. “Stop looking at me like that.”

 

“You shouldn’t have been so disrespectful… Master Fu’s not someone you want to dismiss…”

 

_So that’s his name…_

 

_Why does he get to be a master? What’s he even a master of? Tacky shorts?_

 

_What’s his deal anyways… following me around… acting like this is all my fault… Probably doesn’t even have a life..._

 

She barks out a laugh.

 

“Not like he didn’t deserve it… god what a creep.”

 

“You should apologize.” Says Zeezle insistently. _Because that’s not old at all…_

 

“Why?” Chloé says. Her voice has gotten dangerously squeaky… (Has it always been this high?) “He hasn’t apologized to me.”

 

“He shouldn’t have to…” Zeezle mutters. It’s surprisingly bitter for someone so small. “You should apologize _now_.”

 

(Isn’t this like the billionth time she’s been told to say sorry to someone? She’s already apologized this week. There’s gotta be some sort of limit.

 

And it’s not like any of these people actually deserve it. Not when they are literally the cause of everything wrong in her life right now. )

 

“Whatever. I’m going to shower.” She announces suddenly. (Because she’s done. Because she’s sick of entertaining the ideals of a flying insect.) “Go annoy someone else.”

 

And then Chloé laughs a little because it’s a little mean, and a little ironic, and a lot like how everything was before.

 

(Or at least enough like herself that it makes herself feel a little better.)

Chloé’s dreams are filled with snapping turtles… She’s not sure what was worse- that or the damn foxes.

 

Still, she wakes up in a cold sweat.

 

Still, she refuses to apologize.

The third time it happens, she throws on a jacket and proper pants and is halfway towards her window before she actually wakes up enough to come to her senses.

 

It’s three in the morning. She’s not giving him the satisfaction of being right at three in the morning.

 

The entire time, Zeezle’s staring at her, with this dumb expression that she can’t quite place, like the unholy mixture of bemused and worried.

 

Chloé shoots her a glare. “I’m not gonna do it!” She says. “I’m not gonna give in.”

 

She passes out half an hour later and wakes up screaming.

Dawn comes, and Chloé’s awake, and staring at the time, her eyes burning, her heart pounding.

 

“Not gonna give in.” She mutters. Her throat’s terribly sore. Sleep deprivation has gotten a little too familiar these past few weeks… she’d think she’d get used to it by now.

 

(First it was Alya and Lila giving her nightmares, now it’s him… she’s not even sure if she can remember what 8 hours felt like…)

 

Still as stubborn as she is, the idea is sounding awfully tempting… she  wonders if he’d let her nap on that mattress of his if she did… was it actually as comfortable as she remembers?

 

“You really should stop doing this to yourself.” Says Zeezle. “It’s just an apology, it’s not like it will kill you to say sorry for once.”

 

“I’m not proving him right.” She says. “I can’t give him the satisfaction.”

 

She starts to stand, and the motion sends the room spinning. She steadies herself and trudges towards the bathroom. If she’s not gonna sleep the least she can do is take a bath. See if that wakes her up.

 

(At the very least, maybe she’ll fall asleep again and actually stay that way. What she wouldn’t do for an hour….)

 

“You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep this up,” Says Zeezle, because _suddenly_ she knows everything. (Jeez, she’s almost as infuriating as he is.) “The guilt’s eating away at you.”

 

Chloé scoffs. Throws a pillow at Zeezle and misses by a meter.

 

“Don’t you actually have to do something wrong to feel guilty? Last time I checked, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

She turns the knob on her bath, and pours half a bottle of soap and a glittery bath bomb because she can. Because it’s not like she doesn’t deserve to be pampered or anything.

 

“You don’t honestly believe that do you?” Asks Zeezle and then shakes her head. “Never mind. Forgot who I was talking to.”

 

Chloé pauses. The handful of flower petals she was about to throw in drops to the floor.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She says.

 

_Don’t give her the satisfaction… can’t you see she’s manipulating you?_

 

“Nothing.” Says Zeezle. “I just forgot you weren’t capable of thinking of people other than yourself. Carry on. Don’t mind me.”

 

But she can’t. Carry on that is.

 

“I think about people all the time. I’m about as generous as it gets!”

 

Zeezle laughs. “When it benefits you. I’m not even sure if you _can_ give a genuine apology.”

 

_Ignore her._

 

_I said, ignore her._

 

_She’s just manipulating you, it’s not like you wouldn’t do the same thing if given half a chance._

 

Despite herself, despite everything she knows, despite the fact that this is just _one huge trap_ , Chloé squeaks indignantly.

 

“I can so!” She says. “I apologized to Lila, after all.  Not like she deserved it or anything…”

 

_Did you?_

 

“That doesn’t count.” Says Zeezle.

 

_I’ll prove you wrong…_

 

“Please. Like you’ve ever apologized yourself… “

 

Her bath is starting to overflow. She turns the water off and lets a little of it drain, having practically forgotten about it. Proving Zeezle wrong seems to be more important right now.

 

Zeezle laughs. Actually laughs, like Chloé’s practically a child or some sort of cute pet. Like the idea is that preposterous that it qualifies as humour.

 

She’s not even taking it that seriously…

 

_This is humiliating._

 

She thinks.

 

_I’m losing to a talking bee._

 

“I’ve apologized more in a day than you ever will in a single lifetime. Besides I’m not the one getting guilt nightmares.”

 

“They aren’t- _I’m not guilty!_ I’ve done nothing wrong!”

 

Even she has to admit she sounds like a child…

 

Zeezle doesn;t even say anything at this point. Like she’s too good for words or something. Like Chloé’s so far beyond saving that nothing she says will even work.

 

Or even worse-

 

Like she’s won or something.

 

“Fine.” Chloé says, after half an eternity has passed. “If it’ll get you off my back. This better be worth it…”

 

She’s not sure who she’s more disgusted with; Zeezle or herself.

 

Chloé puts extra care into her appearance, partially for procrastination purposes and partially because she’s not giving Fu the satisfaction of seeing her look like a wreck twice in a row.

 

The entire time, she’s furious with herself. Furious that she could be so weak. That she could give in that easily.

 

It makes her blood boil.

 

The Chloé from a few months ago wouldn't have stood for any of this…

 

Still, there's something deeply satisfying in dressing up again.

 

She’d forgotten how great it feels to look nice.

 

By the time she’s actually ready to go, it’s almost noon and she’s both completely frustrated and cute as hell. High waisted pants and a cute blouse… boots that scream power. (or at the very least gently imply it.)

 

She’s tied it all together with nudes of course. She’s making a statement after all.

 

Chloé gives a little spin (because she can) and shoots a smile at her mirror for the same reason. Then she shouts “ **_Transform me!”_ ** and she’s off.

 

“I’m proud of you.” Says Zeezle, as soon as  Chloé detransforms. “It takes a lot of courage to apologize.”

 

“I’m only doing this to spite you.” She says, and checks her reflection in her compact mirror. “As if I care what you think.”

 

Still, she can’t help it makes her feel a little warm inside… she’s always been a sucker for flattery.

The whole place still smells of perfume and smoke. She accidently gets a huge whiff of it when she opens the door, and she stifles a sneeze, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was before. She almost finds it calming actually… in a you-fucking-creep-how-dare-you sort of way.

 

She adjusts her makeup for the third time since touching down. There’s no point, it’s just as flawless as she feels after all, but it’s ritualistic and relaxing, and she takes comfort in how perfect it looks.

 

It might also be procrastination. Can’t factor that out.

 

Still, she’s cute and confident and the sooner she gets this over with, the sooner she can focus on how shitty everything else is.

 

With that though,  Chloé slams open the sliding door to Fu’s … (bedroom? Apartment? Office? The details are so unclear.) whatever, and finds her face to face with Marinette instead.

 

Or rather- the back of Marinette’s head.

 

Or rather- the look of shock and disgust on her dumb face as she turns around to face her.

 

Chloé freezes. Her eyes travel to the book sprawled out on the floor, to the floating kwami next to Marinette’s dumb head, (red and spotted, terribly, horribly familiar.) , to those dumb earrings that- with a little polishing and some color look almost like…

 

The stuff of nightmares.

 

Her first thought is _Marinette’s skipping. Marinette’s skipping lunch to go hang out with some old dude._

 

Then…

 

_Marinette’s Ladybug._

 

Because as shocking as it is, she’s not an idiot.

 

Shit. She’s seen that miraculous every day. Seen _her_ every day, sitting across the aisle in class… blown up on her big screen. Hell, she’s even held that kwami in her hands… she thought it was a doll for fucks sake…

 

The signs were all there…

 

The disappearances from class... the bags under her eyes… those flimsy excuses...

 

_No wonder she hated you._

 

Still shocked and somewhat sick to her stomach,  Chloé closes the door and goes to sit in the hall, putting her head between her legs in an attempt to stop the room from spinning any faster then it is. She closes her eyes. Tries to breathe.

 

_I had a crush on Marinette…_

 

_I actually had a crush on Marinette…_

 

What seems like hours but is actually a few minutes later, Marinette slides open the door and slips out, her face red. She refuses to acknowledge  Chloé’s there- doesn’t even make eye contact.

_She must be just as horrified as I am._  Chloé thinks. The thought is strangely calming. Nice to know Ladybug’s actually human...

 

She struggles to stand, and braces herself on the wall so she won’t fall. Her legs feel like jelly. She’s not sure if she trusts them. Not sure if she can trust anything at this point...

 

Wobbly legs and broken dreams aside, she does manage to make it through the door and into the room.

 

Fu looks up. He doesn’t look surprised to see her at all. It’s almost a little frustrating but they can’t both be terrified.

 

“Marinette’s ladybug.” She says, because that’s all she seems capable of saying at this point.

 

(It’s circling her head over and over again, how could she forget?)

 

And then a few seconds later: “Why’d you choose her?”

 

He smiles, (although it’s frustratingly strained because oh look at that! Everyone finds her repulsive these days) and takes an extra long time to relight the candles by the mattress side. Because he seems to take pleasure in making her suffer,

 

“Sit down, please.” He says, and she does. “We haven’t been properly introduced, you can call me-”

 

“I don’t care about that, I already know who you are. _Why’d you choose her?_ ”

 

“I chose all my students with the utmost care, you’d be surprised at how many of them you actually know…” He trails off a little and chuckles to himself.

 

God.

 

She knows Chat Noir doesn’t she…

 

Chloé shakes this from her head the best she can. She’ll figure him out later. He’s probably like- Kim or something. Maybe Rose. (They’re both blonde…)

 

Oh god… what if it’s Adrien…

 

(She hopes not. The idea’s preposterous anyways. Adrien barely even has the courage to stand up to his father let alone fight akumas. Probably doesn’t even have it in him to hurt a single creature.

 

He’s much too pure to be Chat. Must be why she liked being around him so much...)

 

“But why Marinette? She’s so… ugh.”

 

“I chose you didn’t I.” Fu says gravely, and she shuts up, mouth pursing into a frown.

 

_What’s that supposed to mean? Am I not fit to be Queen Bee?_

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Zeezle wiggle out of her purse and float gently. She’s a little shocked at first, but it makes sense.

 

_Guess you don’t have to hide around him._ She thinks bitterly. _Glad someone’s having fun._

 

Chloé sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Remembers why she’s here.

 

“Whatever.” She says. Practically growls actually. “I’m sorry by the way.”

 

He quirks an eyebrow at this. Like it’s some sort of joke.

 

“Guess I wasn’t so wrong after all…” He says… softly. Almost to himself.

 

_“Had my doubts, Master.”_

 

Chloé flinches, Something green and bulbous has shot out from who knows where. Something turtle ish. Something almost Zeezle but not quite.

 

Then she spots a green bracelet on her wrist and it falls into place.

 

Another kwami… she shouldn’t be surprised… Figures he'd have one too… figures it would be a turtle of all things… sort of explains the dreams now that she thinks about it.

 

Jeez…. She’s too tired to process this....

 

She leans forward and runs her fingers through her hair and takes a deep breath.

 

“Whatever.” She mutters. “I don’t even care anymore.”

 

Fu has the audacity to look amused. She wonders if it’s too late to take back her apology…

 

“Is that all you wanted?” He asks, and she starts to shake her head, before Zeezle shoots her a look.

 

_Fine then._

 

“My hands.” She grumbles. “I’m supposed to have you look at my hand…”  She pulls off the glove. She swears it’s redder than before. Probably is.

 

She expects Fu to recoil or at the very least, look shocked or something but all he does is sigh.

 

“I have something that can help but it’s only temporary. This isn’t something that I can cure for you. You’ll have to do the rest yourself.”

 

_Wow okay. Cryptic much? What’s that even supposed to mean?_

 

_Don’t you think if I could wash it off I would have done it already? You think I would have even come here in the first place._

 

He starts to stand, and walks with surprising agility to the end of the room before pulling out a washcloth and dipping it in a basin. Doesn’t even bother to wring it out of anything. Just dips it quickly and stands. Then he sits down across from her and starts washing the red from her hands.

 

Flinches. Hadn’t expected it to be that cold… It’s practically ice...

 

“Is that like, magic oil or something?” She blurts out before she can stop herself.

 

“No” He says and quirks an eyebrow. “It’s water.”

 

She shuts up after that. Then after a sideways glance at Zeezle, mutters thanks and starts to stand.

 

“I’ll probably be back in a few days.” She warns him. “I’m not done yet. I have questions.”

 

Fu smiles again, (she should really start keeping track…) his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. It’s almost endearing. His whole grandfather/wise master routine must be starting to grow on her…

How frustrating.

 

“Before you go…” He says and gestures at his kwami. He shoots across the room and pulls out something from a shelf. She can practically see the dust rising into the air. Must be ancient. Must be valuable...“Your mother would have wanted you to have this.”

 

“My mother?” She asks, perking up a little at this.

 

She can’t help it. It’s not a topic that comes up often in the Bourgeois household…

 

_Is it another miraculous? Because one is enough thank-you-very-much._

 

(No… that’s a lie. She’d put up with a thousand Zeezles if it meant something from her. )

 

A shadow crosses his face, something a little like… anger? No. In the two instances they’ve actually spoken to each other face to face, he’s been nothing but patient. She’s not even sure he’s capable of emotions that negative.

 

Still…

 

Not looking her in the eye, he pulls the package from his kwami’s hands- a stack of envelopes bound in string and tape. She notices how he clenches hem, the veins in his bony little old man hands pop. Like he’s reluctant to let them go or something. Maybe they’re valuable after all…

 

(She’s still somewhat disappointed it wasn’t like, some heirloom or something. She’d assume her mother would have left her _something._ )

 

“Forgive me.”Fu says. Hands her the stack reluctantly. “She really should send them to you herself…”

 

Chloé blinks.

 

“You know my mother’s dead… right? So unless she’s sending these beyond the grave....”

 

He looks visibly shaken, but sends her a thin, knowing smile. “Forgive me…” He says again. Like that’s an actual explanation or something.

 

Chloé’s eyes widen. She slips the letters free and flips through the dates, reading the years out loud just to make sure she’s actually seeing things correctly. That last one was sent a just a few months ago. She should have been dead for years...

 

“You can’t be serious…” She whispers.

 

She looks at the letters and she looks at him, then back at the dates because she must have been reading them wrong, she has to be.

 

Like… there’s no way…

 

She thinks she’s elated. She has to be, there’s no reason other to be…

 

If she were Adrien, she’d be crying tears of joy right now. He’d _kill_ for letters like these…

 

She stands up, strangely numb, and stuffs the letters in her purse. Doesn’t bother to thank him or anything, just leaves, her legs moving on their own. Robotically. Like she’s not even human or anything.

 

_This is too much._ She thinks. _I’ll deal with this later…_

 

Then she shouts: **_Transform me!_ ** And Chloé Bourgeois is gone.


	21. That's Rich Coming From You

 

* * *

_If I said I ever wanted to come back, I’d be lying. I’ve never been more free in my life…_

 

* * *

 

Chloé stares at the first letter in her lap, and fingers the seal, trying to decide whether or not it’s worth opening.

 

She doesn't remember her mother all that well… nothing but a few scattered remnants of what could be memories but feel more like dreams. She's not even sure what she looks like… not coherently.

 

When Chloé was younger, she hadn't even thought she had a mother… Figured she’d always just existed this way, that the world was built around her existence. As far as she’d been concerned there was no such thing as mothers. Anyone who claimed otherwise must be lying.

 

When Chloé was older, (or at the very least grown enough to realize that she did in fact have one at some point in her life) she had just figured hers was dead. Plenty of mothers were deceased in fairytales and she was so close to being a princess anyways and it wasn't like her father told her any  different. Wasn't like he ever talked about her anyways… Wasn't like she ever asked...

 

The mother in Chloé’s mind had been pieced together from side comments from well meaning strangers and what little photographs she had found squirreled away around the house, and even those are based on speculation. Her mother had probably been royalty herself … Probably drop dead gorgeous and a goddess in more ways than one. She was an angel who had chosen to walk among mortals, a queen from a distant land, someone powerful and strong and perfect in every way shape and form. The mother Chloé had dreamed of was everything Chloé could be and more.

 

She just wasn't supposed to be alive. Or have a miraculous. (Even if that last part is barely confirmed.

 

“You don't have to read it now.” Says Zeezle, breaking her way into Chloé’s thoughts. “You can wait until you're ready. No shame in that.”

  

Chloé blinks. Snaps out of it.

 

“It's probably an apology.” She says, as dismissively as she can manage. Its terribly ineffective. She's gotten pretty terrible at hiding her emotions... “Or an excuse or something. There’s really no point in keeping it.” She flips her hair back and starts to stand, tossing the letter on her vanity with the rest of them. It comes across as deliciously arrogant, and she tries not to smile.

 

If kwamis could purse their lips, Zeezle would.

 

“Don't say that…”

 

“What? It’s true. Besides if she actually cared she would have delivered it herself instead of relying on some senile dinosaur in tacky shorts.”

_And if she really cared she wouldn't have left at all…_

_...or at the very least taken me with her._

(She’s not quite sure where that came from. Looks like Adrien isn’t the only one with mother issues…)

 

“I'm sure she loved you very much.” Says Zeezle weakly, like she's suddenly capable of being supportive instead of a total pain. Like she isn’t totally lying through her teeth.

 

(Does Zeezle even have teeth? Do kwamis even have teeth?)

 

Chloé scoffs. “Please. I bet the only thing she ever loved was herself.”

 

Saying that outloud makes her stomach turn for reasons she can’t quite explain. She’s certain she’s heard that before… mostly because she has. Because it’s been said about her.

 

Except there’s no way that’s true...Except it sort of is…

 

Out of habit, she stares at her hand and is more than a little pleased to find it still blissfully bare. Then she shoots a look at the envelope stack.

 

“I hate her…” She whispers. “I hope wherever she is, she’s miserable….”

 

Zeezle says nothing, doesn’t try to deny it at all just lies gently next to the envelopes, binding them up again nice and neat then tucking them in  a drawer for like, future reference or something. As if she’s actually want to see the damn thing…

 

“They’d be better off in the trash.”  Chloé says, although she doesn’t move to throw them away.

 

She said she’d deal with them later. It isn’t later yet.

 

* * *

 

Chloé  hasn’t checked her phone since her suspension.

 

It isn’t something she planned on really. Not like she woke up the day after and decided she was going to completely cut off the outside- oh.

 

Wait that’s exactly what she did.

 

Still, before now, the longest she’s ever gone without checking her phone, (and not actually been incapacitated in some way or another) is three hours and that’s only because some idiot teacher had decided that she had to give it up during a test. She remembers all too quickly how much much she’d whined and threatened, how the teacher had to practically pry it from her fingertips and place it in a special compartment on her desk. The teacher retired the next semester, the school had ended up with a particularly generous donation, and her replacement- had been more than willing to let Chloé  get away with ‘accommodations’ like that.

 

(Thinking about it again makes her stomach churn, She doesn’t think about the reasons why. It’s not something she should really be concerned about it, hmm?)

 

She’s more than a little tempted to make her hiatus permanent. It’s still not too late to change her name and move to another country. Maybe England. Maybe America. Who knows…

 

Still it’s been a few days… she should be safe by now…

 

Chloé  takes a deep breath, and presses the power button on her phone, closing her eyes for a few minutes so she can have time to brace herself. Then, very slowly, she shoots her phone a look.

 

It’s worse than she thought.

 

Her notifications have more then reached the hundreds.

 

She swipes away her social media mentions, and skims through her messages, deleting all the unknown numbers and every single, stupid, sycophantic apology text of Sabrina’s. She’s not left with much, actually. 

 

Like, maybe one or two from Adrien, (which she ignores for now, because he’s a whole new can of worms not worth opening at the moment,) and a couple from her father (which she also deletes.), and one, single message from Mireille of all people.

 

She blinks and tries to decide whether or not it’s worth opening. She already knows who Ladybug is after all, and that’s really the whole reason she contacted her in the first place, so there’s not any point in checking. 

 

_Okay but consider this: She’s relatively adorable, and it’s not like you have anything else you’d rather been doing._

 

Besides, her reputation's practically in the gutter anyways… she could use all the friends she can find. (And Mireille is pretty influential as far as friend choices go.)

 

(That past part sends something strange rolling through her chest but she brushes it off. Influence is the only way to get far in life. Anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves.)

_“Are u still up for meeting me this weekend? My photoshoot got cancelled :,) so im pretty much free”_

 

“Text her back!’ Says Zeezle, who’s made herself a nice little nest of Chloé ’s hair. (Normally she’d swat her away but it’s kind of cute and it feels kind of nice so she lets her stay.) “Go be social. Bees work better with friends.”

 

“I suppose so…” Says Chloé , although she was planning on it anyways. “I mean it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

 

_“Yea sure. What time?”_

 

* * *

Chloé checks her phone to make sure she’s got the time right, then goes back to staring at the horizon impatiently. Her fingers drum against her leg, counting off the seconds that Mireille isn't there.  That she’s late.

 

“She probably cancelled.” Chloé says glumly. Wonders, briefly, if she should have bought something to drink. Then this trip wouldn’t be a total waste.

 

“If you didn’t want to wait, you shouldn’t have come thirty minutes early.”  Mutters  Zeezle.

 

(Who seems to think she’s quite the social expert for someone whose only companion is a teenage socialite.)

 

Chloé  sighs, and zips her purse shut so she doesn’t have to answer her.

 

“She should have texted ahead… what kind of person doesn’t text ahead? She’s probably not coming,”

 

(Tap..tap...tap...)

 

She checks her phone again, a little frustrated that only a minute has passed, then sets it back down again. Resumes tapping. Then checks again.

 

The cycle continues for another fifteen minutes.

 

She’s considering leaving, like, literally stands up and slings her bag around her shoulder, considering, when she spots that all too familiar black haired bob cross the street and walk her cute self over to the cafe.

 

Naturally she sits back down again. Pulls out her phone and pretends not to see Mireille at first so she doesn’t look desperate. She looks up at the last minute, and waves.

 

_Careful… don’t wanna come off like some friendless loser..._

 

Mireille waves back. Her hands are terribly small… maybe that’s why that was such a weak little wave.

 

Or maybe she’s just as nervous as Chloé  is.

 

Either way, small wave or not, nervous or not, she’s here and that’s all that counts right? Right.

 

She slides down next to Chloé  and shoots her a smile.

 

“I hope you didn't have to wait long… Didn't expect you to come so early…” She says and giggles nervously.

 

She pushes a strand of hair from her face, and smiles. Her hands are shaking.

 

“Not really.” Says Chloé. She leans forward and tries to send a grin herself. It falls flat. She seems to be suffering from resting bitch face.

 

There's silence. Its agonizingly long, as Chloé stares at Mireille who in turn is staring at her hands. (Neatly folded in her lap.)

 

“Do you wanna like, order or something?” Asks Chloé because that's what you're supposed to do in situations like these.

 

Mireille looks up- a little startled and Chloé is suddenly aware of how much she reminds her of a deer- and nods.

 

“Oh.” She says. Smiles again. (She doesn't show her teeth… is it because of or why her smiles are so fleeting?) “Sure I mean- go ahead.”

 

_Okay…_

_That's not weird at all…_

More silence. More staring.

 

“Well?” She asks. Raises an eyebrow. “Do you want something or not?”

  

“I’m good. I ah, I ate before I left.”

 

She gives another giggle although it's painfully strained.

 

Chloé wonders if it's fake. It seems fake.

 

“I'll pay.” She says, and shoots her a wide grin.

 

_The magic words…_ She thinks.   _Now you have to be having fun._

 

Except Mireille clearly isn't…

 

Her eyes grow wide and she straightens suddenly. “No- it’s fine! I wouldn't want to impose or anything…”

 

Which is it? Thinks Chloé with a frown. You already ate or you don't want to impose. Make up your mind!

 

Her fingers are tap tap tapping again.  She clenches her fingers in an attempt to get them to stop and tries her hand at another smile.  It falls flat. Figures.

 

“You're not imposing.” She says. “Fine. Whatever. Your loss.”

 

That comes off ruder than she expected it to…

 

She clenches her fists tighter and looks away.

 

“I mean, I don't want to force you or anything but if you want a drink or something…”

 

“That really is nice of you…” Mireille squeaks. “But I'm fine!”

 

_She looks like she's about to cry…_ Thinks Chloé and she sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. (Naturally this only makes Mirielle tense up even more.)

 

“You're afraid of me- aren't you.” It comes off as more of a statement then a question.

 

Mireille laughs nervously. “A little.” She says. “No- a lot. I'm sorry, I've just heard a lot about you…”

 

“Are they good things?” Chloé asks.

 

Of course they aren't. You know that perfectly well…

 

“Not really…” Says Mireille.

 

Silence. Now it's Chloé who can't lift her eyes above the table.

 

Something coils in her stomach. Something sour.

 

“if it makes you feel better, you're nicer than I thought you’d be.” Says Mireille, in some desperate attempt to cheer her up.

 

It works. Sort of.

 

“Well of course.” She says, with the same sort of bravo she had when she woke up. (So completely fake.) “Thanks though.”

 

Means a lot I guess.

 

Silence again, neither of them looking up.

 

“You don’t have to be here if you don't want to.” Says Chloé. “Like I get it if you wanna leave or something.”

 

_I'm not sure I'd want to be around me either_ … She thinks.

 

The coil tightens. She feels sick.

 

“It's not-” Mireille says then stops. “You went through all the trouble of inviting me it seems rude to just leave.”

 

“No it’s fine.” Says Chloé. “Thanks for coming.”

 

“Thanks for having me. Sorry this wasn't as fun as you wanted. See you around!”

 

Mireille starts to stand and smiles for real this time, like she's relieved to be gone or something.

 

_She probably is. Stop kidding yourself._

 

“See you around.” Says Chloé.

 

Except Mireille’s already gone.

* * *

She gets home and collapses on her bed without a sound, squeezing her eyes shut and pulling her covers tight around her body.

 

“I’m sorry.” Whispers Zeezle. She tries to press her body next to Chloé’s but Chloé pushes her away and curls up tighter.

 

“Go away.” She says. “I want to be alone.”

 

It's only partially a lie. Maybe if she says it enough, it’ll actually come true.

* * *

Monday comes faster than it should.

 

She blinks and it’s there. Feels every second as she’s laying in bed and trying desperately to sleep- even if it;s just for a few minutes,

  

When morning comes and she practically has to drag herself out of bed, her legs weighing her down like sticks of lead.

 

She tries her best to drag out her morning routine as slow as she can, putting extra effort into her appearance and hoping it will be enough to make her late. She checks her temperature a thousand times. Checks the date twice that.

 

No such luck. The universe seems determined to make her suffer this morning.

 

* * *

 

As it is, she’s painfully early, and out of the door faster than she can blink.

 

Chloé  doesn’t dare make eye contact. Mostly she just stares at her feet,

 

The crowd parts for her as always and she swallows back a sob, trying her hardest to seem like she isn’t. About to cry that is.

 

Before, at the height of her Chloé -ness, crowds parted like that all the time, except she remembers it actually not making her feel like crap. She’s used to things like that, used to people going out of their way to impress her or at the very least going out of their way not to get in hers. She’d always vaguely been aware it was because of fear, sure, deep down everyone follows around people with power, but she’d always thought that a part of them absolutely adored her as well.

 

(And why wouldn’t they? She’s practically the princess of Paris, the queen of style herself, the most influential teen in the city, aside from the lucky duo themselves of course.

 

Doesn’t really look like it though…)

 

She’s starting to think that maybe it wasn’t that fight with Lila who turned everyone against her.

 

That maybe they were never on her side to begin with,

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Lila and is a little shocked to see her flinch. Like, she’s seen her flinch before, seen her flinch away from Chloé  hundreds of times, but there’s something different this time. Something a little along the lines of genuine fear.

 

She’s not even sure why she’s so surprised. She assaulted her. She thinks she’d be a little afraid too.

 

Their eyes meet again and for a second, the two of them just stare at each other from across the hall. Chloé ’s frozen into place, couldn’t run even if she wanted too and so’s Lila, or she is until she manages to tear herself away and walk as quickly to class as she can.

 

She swears it goes silent the second she steps through the door.  Then, she sits and the whispering begins.

 

She knows it's about her. She might be unable to look any of them in the eye but she can still see their stares, their pointed fingers, how they hush up when they think she's watching.

 

She can't blame them too bad. She’d laugh about them too if given the chance…

 

The only ones not whispering behind her back are Adrian and Marinette and that's only because the former is too nice and the latter isn't even here yet. That last bit is more than a little pleasing. It's kind of nice to have someone else suffer instead of her for once.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she spots  Sabrina, bandages still wrapped around her neck, and talking to Rose and Juleka. For a second she makes eye contact with Chloé but then Rose pulls her away and into a hug and it's broken. Something twinges in her chest. Something sour . Like she did something wrong.

 

She turns away quickly and stares rather intently at her hands instead.

 

So she isn't absent. She thinks. Guess she isn't that afraid of you.

 

Her heart is pounding in her chest, and the knot in her stomach twists even more, and she's trying harder then ever not to cry but even then, she still can't help but start to tear up. And why wouldn't she? Everyone hates her.

 

“Everything alright?” Someone asks and places an all too familiar hand on her shoulder. Now it's her turn to flinch.

 

It has to be some sort of a joke. She thinks and she turns around,ready to give them a piece of her mind. To remind them that although she might seem down she's still queen bee around here.

 

Her face softens when she sees its Adrien.

 

(Even if she's a little shocked to see that he's actually talking to her surrounded by all these people. Doesn't he have a reputation to worry about? What will people think!)

 

“Yeah.” She says, short and sweet and abrupt because that's really all she can manage. “Why wouldn't I be?”

 

His smile falters and she feels a bang of something sour- like she's kicked a small animal or something- but then his eyes light up a little and she sees that everything's okay.

 

She breathes a little sigh of relief. She might not be attracted to him but she still sort of cares. Like a tiny bit. Like he's kinda actually lucky to have her around.

 

She looks up and sees him smiling at her- not the one she remembers from when they were young (gap toothed and wide and laughing) and not that psuedo-model coy thing he tries to pass off as one but something shy and almost genuine.

  
  
There's a gap in her memory, a line between pre Chloé and like, actual Chloé, except that has to be wrong because she’s always been Chloé (like maybe not this fake Chloé but the one before that) so she figures it was less that she changed but that Adrien did.

  
  
She remembers the before Adrien who would let her boss him around and she remembers the one who doesn't seem to want anything to do with her. This Adrien is somewhere in between, not quite a stranger but also not the best friend she vaguely remembers.

  
  
Still he smiled at her. So it's a start…

 

“I'm glad.” He says and he looks like he's about to say more but the teacher starts calling roll and he has to sit down.

  
She thinks briefly about the letter she currently has on her dresser, and how Adrien would kill to receive something like that. She thinks about the miraculouses and Master Fu and about Ladybug actually being Marionette and her stomach squeezes.   
  
He’s always been such a quiet person. She bets he could keep a secret… And not once had Zeezle said anything about not telling people…   
  
She wants to scream. Sabrina has pretty much been banned from talking to her, Mireille's too afraid to hold a conversation and Alya can't even look her in the eye. Her only friends are a talking bee and maybe some gross old man and his flying turtle companion thing.

  
Still, it's nice to know someone cares.

 

She grins a little and tries to focus on the fuzzy feeling growing in her chest. The one that tells her everything's gonna be alright. That nothing else is gonna go wrong and okay, maybe not everyone loves her right now but someone seems to care enough to ask about hiw she is doing then it can't be that bad.

 

By no stretch of the imagination does it completely erase the last couple of months or whatever and to be completely honest she isn't sure she can but it does loosen the knot in her stomach and it does make her feel a little less sick. She's not sure if she will ever feel the way she did before. She's not sure if she wants to.

 

Still Chloé smiles.

 

Maybe today won't be so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

Chloé  considers catching Adrien after class, and she almost does, but then Marinette stumbles into the room late as ever and practically his arms and Chloé  gives up, and goes the opposite direction instead. Who comes to class right after it’s ended anyways? How can anyone be that late?

 

Oh yeah. Ladybug.

 

Nice to know she’s doing a public service or whatever.

 

She supposes it’s sort of a good thing, in some bizarre, my life sucks so why bother way. Like she’s been gone all week. The least she could do is check her locker and see if the akumas are still there.

 

(Look a third thing that shouldn’t be opened!)

 

She sighs and weaves her way through the hall, and does her combination without thinking. It’s all routine to her anyways. Just leaves her more time to think.

 

So not necessarily a good thing…

 

Her locker clicks open with surprisingly little resistance and she kind of smirks, satisfied until she realizes that this isn’t necessarily a good thing either. That maybe she should be a little more concerned.

 

Or y’know… a lot more concerned, what with the jars of personified evil sitting there.

 

The room suddenly grows cold and her heart skips a beat.

 

_No._ She thinks. _No there’s no way, I locked it, I hid them..._

Her stomach drops and she pushes her books to the floor, and goes straight for the curtain which she tears away too.

 

_Shit._ She thinks. _Shit shit shit shit._

Only to find nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About halfway (?) done with the next chapter and hoping to finish writing it either tonight or tomorrow... It will probably be the same length and it's really dramatic and kind of angsty, but I'm hoping to squeeze in some more salt and fluff soon? Mostly because there's only so much teenage angst other than my own that I can handle writing haha.


	22. Everyone Wins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate names for this chapter include:  
> "Hello Darkness My Old Friend"  
> "99 Problems"

 

* * *

 

_There are some things I wouldn’t wish upon my worse enemy…_

 

_Kissing the love of my life is one of them._

* * *

 

Chloé  screams.

 

Chloé  screams and she wails and she falls to her knees and tears through the piles and piles of books and cloth for the slightest and practically impossible chance that she might actually have missed them.

 

Chloé  screams and she wails and she shakes and no one so much as blinks an eye because it’s her and apparently this is normal for her now.  Because _clearly_ her classmates can’t tell the difference between being goaded into a fight and trying to save their worthless lives...

 

_No no no nonononono._

 

_You don’t understand._

 

She stands up slowly, her body slowly swaying and just- leaves everything there. She yanks her comb from her hair and holds it in her hand, strands of now tangled hair falling around her face. She takes a breath. And then another one.

 

 _Okay…_ She thinks, running her fingers against her comb’s teeth.. _I just lost an entire locker full of killer butterflies._

 

_What now?_

 

She’s not going to class for starters.

* * *

 

...Or maybe she is...

 

She actually does end up going to class but it’s really more like she barges in, and instead of actually participating, it’s more like she stomps over to Lila’s seat, slams her hands on the table and growls “come”.

 

Lila stiffens. Her eyes grow wide and she starts to tremble and for a second, Chloé  thinks she’s going to cry. Because nothing says ‘ _i’m a victim’_ like crocodile tears.

 

She squeaks out something that sounds suspiciously like “restraining order” and “please don’t hurt me” but Chloé  grabs her arm anyways and drags her out of the room.

 

No one protests. Or maybe they do and she just doesn’t hear them. Not like their opinions matter anyways,

 

Lila struggles to pull free but Chloé is desperate and it's life or death and the sooner someone can realize this, the better everyone will be, so her grip only tightens/

 

She drags Lila into the bathroom and into a stall and locks the door behind the two of them. She’s trembling- both of them actually- and Lila seems terribly, terribly small crammed up against the corner and pushed next to the toilet like this. It makes her stomach churn just looking at her. It’s the most disgusting thing she has ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on.

 

 _“Where are they?”_   She whispers, both of their eyes wide, both of them starting to tear up.

 

Lila shrinks tighter than before. Flinches.

 

“I- I don't k- know what you're talking about!” She chokes out, like she’s trying not to cry or something. Like this isn’t all an _act._

 

“Liar!”

 

She clenches the comb in her hand until it breaks skin. Doesn't really feel it.

 

“Is this about the hate blog? I took it down! I p- promise!”

 

Lila starts bawling. Her body heaves and sways and she holds her face in her hands like she can barely contain herself. _Like she actually is a victim._

 

“Liar!” She screams again but her voice is gone and so is her energy.

 

Lila seems incapable of speech. She blubbers out something that could be _‘help me’_ and could also be _‘I’m sorry’,_ and maybe ‘ _I don’t know what you’re talking about so please let me go.’_ Snot is dripping down her face and onto her mouth, and Lila isn’t even bothering to brush it away. Just starts shaking _harder._

 

Chloé looks at her with disdain or maybe pity, then closes her eyes and slumps against the stall door.

 

She pinches the bridge of her nose. Tries to breathe. Tries to focus on something other than Lila, other than the Akumas that have no doubtedly been released onto Paris. The ones that are probably wreaking havoc as they sit.

 

Except for Lila's gross sobs, the bathroom is completely silent. She can’t even hear her own pulse…

* * *

 

Eventually Lila squeezes herself under the stall and out into the bathroom before breaking into a run. Chloé doesn't stop her. Just stares silently and tries to come up with a plan.

 

She wonders if she should text Adrien…

 

She's not sure where the thought comes from and she's not sure why it's so important- especially now but what's left of her world is crumbling before her eyes and shes really craving some human contact right now.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she spots Zeezle crawl out of her purse and float softly onto her hand.

 

“Everything’s going to be okay.” She says. Her voice is soft. Like she’s talking to a child or something.

 

Chloé pulls her hand away abruptly and grips the comb tighter. It’s teeth rake against her teeth. At this rate it’s probably gonna scar.

 

“Liar.” She whispers. Pulls herself tighter. “You had it right the first time.”

Chloé doesn't go home for lunch. Her phone lights up with calls from Monsieur Moustache and she blocks his number and sighs in relief when they eventually stop. She sends a quick text to Adrien too, asking him if they can maybe talk a bit then turns off her phone and tosses it into her purse.  Then she pulls herself up.

 

She has to use the stall door for support, her legs are failing her and so are her lungs and so is everything else and she’s trying really hard not to throw up.

 

She pulls her hair back the best she can and sticks her comb smack in the center, ignoring the strands falling out and the blood still on its teeth. She grabs some tissues and wipes the layers of snot and tears and mascara running down her face the best she can until everything is scrubbed raw and red.

 

Then- avoiding looking into the mirror the best she can because she's certain she looks like a monster right now- turns on the water and tries to wash her blood off of her hands.

 

Her cuts sting and she focuses on the water instead, watching it turn pink and swirl down the drain. Because obviously she can't _get_ any angstier right now.

 

Her cuts clean but the red stays, around her knuckles like before Fu and now around her palm too and she's not even that alarmed at that point. Just turns off the tap and sighs.

 

Yeah no she's definitely not going back to class. Not even sure if she's going home. Not when any second a flock of butterflies is gonna flood Paris any second now. She shoots a look at Zeezle who’s strangely silent and another at her red hand and she huffs a sigh.

 

 **_“Transform me!”_ ** She says and then she leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

Queen Bee doesn't make anything better than Chloé had and it's crazy disappointing but so is her life so she shrugs it off and tries not to think about it too hard.

 

She's not sure what she expected. Maybe Paris covered in akuma? Screaming citizens? Fire everywhere?

 

No. Whoever it is seems to be taking their time. Saving things for something big, like take over Paris big.

 

For a second she wonders if it's Hawkmoth all along, if he's actually someone she knows who’s been manipulating her or something.

It occurs to her that Marinette could very easily not be Ladybug, that she could of been Hawkmoth all along. Except that's ridiculous. There's no way that Hawkmoth is a teenage girl.

 

Ugh. She hates this. Hates Hawkmoth. Hate _everything._

 

She's not even sure if she has anyone she can actually blame anyone but herself and she hates that the most. Like okay, she can blame whatever moron thought it was a good idea to steal an entire locker’s worth of evil butterflies, and okay, maybe she can sort of blame Ladybug and possibly Chat, but that's sort of a stretch and-

 

This is ridiculous. She’s ridiculous. She shouldn’t even be focusing on this, she should be hunting them down right now and knocking some sense into them. She could be saving Paris right now, she should be saving Pairs.

 

Not contemplating blame. Not being Chloé.

 

It starts to rain.

 

Not cutesy little sprinkles, but the full blown beginnings of a storm, complete with sheets of rain and thunder and gusts of wind so strong she’s practically blown off course. She’s drenched in minutes.

 

Well actually thats a lie. Her suit isn’t drenched. Her suit is frustratingly impervious to most things- silly stupid storms included- so really it’s just her head that's wet. The rain pretty much ignores her. She shifts and it runs off like rivers.

 

Queen Bee sighs. Finds a rooftop.

 

 _Perfect._ She thinks. _Just perfect. Because I totally deserve this today._

 

She slumps forward and looks for some sort of weather-akuma, but that’s stupid because they’ve already had one and she’s not sure if Hawkmoth feels like doubling up.

 

(Well, actually, she’s not so sure that’s true? Maybe if he’d run out of names…)

 

Besides. She’s not even sure if the akuma thief’s even released them yet. For all she knows, they’re waiting for the perfect moment… right when Paris is at it’s weakest.

 

Could be tomorrow… could be a month ago…

 

Jeez… This is hopeless. She might as well be searching blindfolded.

 

Queen Bee sighs again and swings her legs over the side of the roof. A bolt of lightning flashes, too close for comfort, and she shrugs it off. She’d almost rather be struck.

 

* * *

 

It’s pretty common knowledge at this point, that Marinette Dupain-Cheng lived in a bakery and at this point she’d pretty much stalked her to get to Alya anyways, so finding her is fairly easy. Really the only obstacle she seems to be facing is her wounded pride but there’s so little of that left…

 

She lands on Marinette’s dumb balcony and shakes the rain off her suit before going ahead and letting herself in through the window.

 

Then Queen Bee waits.

 

She looks around a little, takes in Marinette’s weird wall shrine to Adrien and the sewing supplies and the plushies on her bed. So many plushies…

 

Next to Marinette’s bed is that same journal she’s so used to seeing. She remembers, rather vaguely, that at some point Sabrina had gotten her hand stuck in that dumb box and it sends her stomach souring.

 

Hadn't that been a little bit her fault? She's pretty sure a little bit of that was her fault.

 

_No wonder she hates me._

 

She wonders briefly, what the protocol for visiting your enemy/ex crush but then decides it doesn't matter and sits delicately on Marinette’s desk chair anyways.

 

Tries not to stare too hard at Ladybug's personal shrine to all things Agreste tacked onto the walls.

 

Water drip, drip drips onto the floor. She focuses on that instead.

 

She hears voices and she stand up quickly and tries not to panic, then sees the puddle of water right below her and sits back down again.

 

Marinette’s pretty poor so it's not like she has a maid or anything. Really the only person that could be coming would be her so it's not really that big of a deal. Because it's totally not like Marinette hates her guts or anything.

 

Because that's totally ridiculous.

 

She’s fucked. She’s totally fucked.

 

More footsteps and the opening of a hatch and then a shock of familiar black hair. (Ink hair. So dark it's almost blue.)

 

Queen Bee stiffens. She forces herself to relax and pretends to inspect her nails.

 

“What are you doing here?” Spits out Marinette.

 

Queen Bee almost jumps out of her seat.

 

 _Pretenses._ She thinks. It's still Marinette. Just because she's also Ladybug like half the time doesn't mean a thing.

 

Queen Bee drags her eyes from her nails and shoots her a look.

 

“Oh. Hello.” She says and almost grins because that's the most Chloé Queen Bee has been since forever.

 

It's also really really rude but she's in a pretty shitty mood so Marinette can bite her.

 

“How’d you find me- what do you want?”

 

Marinette’s practically and her eyes are practically popping out of stupidly adorable face. She looks terrified, and alarmed and a little angry too. Maybe just scared. Maybe all three. It’s hard to tell with her.

 

 _She doesn't know who I am._ Thinks Queen Bee and her almost smile becomes almost wider. Like, maybe almost real.

 

She stands up and fastens a strand of rebellious hair back into place. Then, still terribly wet, walks over and places a single hand on Marinette’s shoulder. Stares into her eyes and smirks.

 

“A lot of things actually… eight hours of sleep… hawkmoth free Paris…” She pauses, laughs a little at her own joke. “The usual, really.”

 

Marinette is not amused.

 

“What do you want.” She says, her voice dangerously low.

 

Guess only Chat is allowed to make jokes.

 

That’s fair.

 

She pouts a little, and then tries to smile again but it falls flat. This is a crisis anyways. Who is she kidding here?

 

Not Ladybug.

 

“Look.” She says. Pinches the bridge of her nose. “I hate that it’s come to this but I need your help with something andIknowyou’reladybugsodon’tweasleoutofit.”

 

Marinette’s eyes grow even wider than before, but otherwise seems unfazed. She takes a deep breath.

 

“Even if I was Ladybug- which I’m not- give me one good reason why I’d ever help you?”

 

“I’ve saved Paris!” Says Queen Bee indignantly.

 

“Maybe Paris wouldn’t need saying if you didn’t come in and ruin everything.” Marinette mutters- just low enough that Queen Bee almost doesn’t make out what she’s saying.

 

“I’m a hero!”She says. “I’ve got a miraculous! It’s not like I want to be here or anything-”

 

“People like you don’t even deserve miraculeuses!”

 

Queen Bee freezes.

 

She blinks. Blinks again and stares at her hand, at the red soaking through the suit, then back at Marinette.

 

_“What makes you any different?”_

 

“I _earned_ my miraculous.” She says. “I still earn my miraculous and I’ll never, ever be as terrible a human being as you!”

 

Queen Bee starts to reply, starts to scream something back, but she can’t seem to get the words out.

 

She thinks about Lila. Thinks about Alya. Thinks about the bandages she saw on Sabrina’s neck and the look on Chat Noir’s face, and her father and Monsieur Moustache and every single person she’s akumatized this year. Thinks of the way Mireille had shied away from her and how the crowds parted when she walked through the halls that morning. Not like a queen but a dictator. Like she was someone to be feared.

 

She almost pulls the comb from her hair right then and there.

 

“I deserve my miraculous!” She says but it comes out terribly, terribly soft.

 

It’s a lie and they both know it.

 

“I could never help you… you’re just as bad as Hawkmoth.”

 

There’s a flash of lightning and the power goes out and it’s almost like she’s alone. It’s much more comforting than it should be,

 

“Fine then.” Says Queen Bee. after an eternity of silence.“I get it.”

 

And she thinks she finally does.

 

* * *

 

 

It is raining harder than before and she can hardly see but she leaps out the window anyways and hopes she doesn’t smack into concrete. Or maybe not. Either way everyone wins so it doesn’t really matter.

 

She thinks she’s crying. She might not be actually, but it’s hard to tell.

 

Somehow despite all that, despite the rain and the thunder and the wind, she finds herself at standing in front of an apartment complex. She transforms and walks inside. No one bats an eye.

 

Who would pay attention to someone as mundane as her anyways? It’s almost ridiculous.

 

Thunder booms louder. A certain someone tries to whisper in her ear. Tries to tell her to _stop. That she’s making a mistake!_

 

She ignores both of them and keeps walking, up the stairs and through the halls, not stopping until she reaches the end.

 

She looks at the comb in her hand and runs her fingers one last time over its teeth. She looks at the door in front of her. Then back at the comb.  


Then she slips it into the letterbox and runs like hell.

 

 _Everyone wins._ She thinks. _Even me._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one should be up in a few days. It'll prolly be short- sorry. Hoping to finish it tomorrow but we'll see how that goes haha


	23. The Mundane-ness of it All

**The Mundane-ness of it All**

* * *

 

_ Why haven’t you been answering my letters?  _

 

_ I’m your mother. I’m not a stranger. _

* * *

 

Chloé wakes up at the same time she always does, and flops out of bed. She prepares her bath. She dries her hair. She does her makeup. 

 

The room is quieter then she’d want it to be and she reaches for her phone and starts blasting XY. Does a little dance in her mirror. 

 

She looks cute today. She  _ always  _ looks cute.

 

Something’s missing. 

 

She pauses and purses her lips slightly then thinks-  _ hair! _ \- because the wrong style can completely ruin any outfit in seconds. 

 

She pulls her hair into a quick bun then realizes she doesn't have a comb anymore and sticks it in a ponytail instead. It's an old favourite. There's no way she can go wrong with it. 

 

She doesn’t remember her dreams from last night. She’s certain they were pleasant.

* * *

  
  
  


Chloé  slides into her seat mere minutes before the bell, and tries to pretend like she doesn’t notice how empty the seat next to her is. She doesn’t bother looking over her shoulder to see where Sabrina is.

 

Sabrina still can’t speak to her. It’s not like she really has a chance too, not like she’s ever alone long enough, but she seems happy and Chloé ’s not sure she even wants to talk to her anyways. Not with the silver bee necklace still  burning a hole in the pocket of her purse.

 

She really should get rid of that thing. She’s gotten rid of other silver things worth half its trouble and twice its value.

 

Speaking of silver things, she notices that Sabrina’s wearing that dumb comb. It’s contrasting wildly with her outfit and she barely has enough hair, but even she has to admit it works. Sabrina looks cute with her hair up and out of her face. 

 

It’s almost enough to make her miss her. 

 

Well enough about that! She’s completely udes

 

She sits ups straight suddenly, and smiles much too wide and pretends to laugh at something on her phone. Makes a big deal about typing something in. There’s not really any point, and she knows this (everyone pretty much ignores her at this point.) but it makes her feel better so she guess it sort of does. Have a point that is. 

 

Class starts not a second too soon and she can’t help but feel relieved.

 

The sooner this school year ends the better.

* * *

  
  


Monsieur Moustache picks her up as soon as she’s released for lunch, and she slides into the back of the car, her hands folded in her lap. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t see the point in complaining when it’s sort of her fault things are so silent. 

 

A few minutes later, he stops in front of the hotel and sends her a small smile. 

 

“Have a good day Miss Bourgeois.”  He says.

 

She smiles back. It’s genuine.

* * *

  
  


Adrien waves in the hallways in between class, and she almost thinks it’s for someone else, but it’s more or less just the two of them and she can’t help but grin.

 

She wants to run over to him, and wrap her arms around his neck. She wants to talk about everything and anything right now, Mireille, Alya, all of it. She wants to be friends again. Like things used to be, like they should be. 

 

She starts to wave back, but stops at the last minute. Tries not to make eye contact,

 

It would be better for his reputation if they didn’t speak to each other. Why does he keep trying? Why does he keep sending her these glances? 

 

Why is he so nice to her?

 

It’s not like she deserves any of it.

* * *

 

The letter is still sitting on her vanity. She sees it from the corner of her eye, and reaches out to touch it then pulls back her hand.

 

_ Not yet.  _ She thinks.  _ I promised him I’d wait until we were together.  _

 

It’s been three weeks since she’s sent that text. It’s been two since she bothered acknowledging his presence.

 

At this point she might as well burn it.

* * *

 

No one notices the red on her hands so she doesn’t either, or actually she tries not to and that’s sort of the same thing.

 

Like, if she ignores it long enough, maybe it will go away?

* * *

 

The sun frames the new Queen Bee like a halo, turning her hair a blaze, and making her comb glint painfully bright.

 

Abeille ducks down with startling grace. She twists and turns and dives, the ribbons wrapped around her waist spiraling. She’s not even fighting crime, she’s gliding, she’s sliding, she’s perfect.

 

She’s everything Queen Bee couldn’t be, and Chloé  turns away and stares her hands. Her stomach is turning. Her palms are stained blood red. 

 

She turns away again, and tries not to vomit, the ground suddenly spinning.  Tries to run but she can’t. Tries to look down but she fails, 

 

Her hands burn, her throat burns, her stomach burns, her heart burns, her hands burn even more, there’s fire everywhere only it isn't only it’s all Abeille, who is beauty and grace and- and ethereal. 

 

Pure. 

 

It’s something she could never use to describe Sabrina, or herself or really anyone but for Abeille it’s perfect.

 

She is pure, she is angelic, she’s a thousand and one things too wholesome for this world, too wholesome for Chloé  to ever be.

 

Like… even her suit is perfect. There’s a poofy little collar around her neck, and her wings turn into a cape, and ribbons wrapped around her waist like the world’s cutest stinger, and it’s so cute it’s sickly. She even has a mask- Queen Bee never had a mask- Queen Bee never had any of this. She couldn’t- she wasn’t capable of it.

 

(No she doesn’t regret it.)

 

(She isn’t jealous. She can’t be.)

 

(She made the right choice.)

 

_ (She’s looking straight at you!!) _

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Abeille smiles softly, the closest thing to acknowledgment Sabrina’s given her all month, and opens her hands.

 

And then the sky turns black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy guess who's not dead!
> 
> I'm so sorry, it's literally been months and this one is really short.
> 
> Okay so uh, I was doing really well for a while, and then a friend was craving some fanfic for another fandom and like, that ended up consuming my time for a bit? And then there was drama with said friend, and college prep stuff, and trouble deciding on how exactly I wanted this chapter to go. 
> 
> I want to say the next one will pop up fairly quickly but I need to do my research on it since it's looking like it could be a little... dark and I want to know I've got it down in a respectful manner.  It's something I need to tread very carefully with and I really want to write it right.


	24. Somewhere Something Shudders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Honey, I'm the original one-eyed chicklet in the kingdom of the blind. 'Cause at least I admit the world makes me nuts.”
> 
> -Glorificus
> 
> Buffy The Vampire Slayer

 

* * *

 

_ How Dare You. _

 

* * *

 

She thinks it’s an eclipse at first. It happens in a blink of an eye- so fast she hardly registers it, a thousand butterflies swarming out of Abeille’s cupped hands and swirling around the two of them, until she can hardly see the sun.  For a minute everything is dead- dead silent, dead dark, and she just stands there, her legs lead, too afraid to even breathe.

 

_ (There’s no way….) _

 

_ (You shouldn’t be able to do that- where did you get those?) _

 

Somewhere someone screams and the silence breaks and so does the darkness but not really. 

 

Because it's only for a few a seconds, and it’s only temporary and she still can’t see.

 

_ (No. Nevermind. It’s not my problem anymore. Ladybug and Chat Noir can deal with this. ) _

 

Still it’s enough and Chloé runs. Doesn’t stop even when she gets to the hotel lobby, doesn’t even bother with the elevator- just bolts straight up a dozen or so flights of stairs until she gets to her room, panting and dripping with sweat. Slams the door behind her and locks it shut. For a couple seconds she sits there and catches her breath, staring straight across the room and out her window.

 

There’s a soft glow in the distance. It’s mesmerizing.

 

The lights flicker, and she pulls her knees in tight, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. 

 

Whatever’s going on out there can’t be good at all, and with the information that she knows- as well as her current mental state,  she’s almost certain that being possessed would have catastrophic results.

 

Maybe it’s adrenaline or maybe her time as Queen Bee has made her stronger than she thinks, because somehow Chloé manages to stand up and make her way to the window. She pushes her vanity towards it in an attempt to barricade it. 

 

Safety net. She thinks. Useless against an actual akuma attack but there’s something surprisingly calming about having it there.

 

She notices out of the corner of her eye that her mother’s letters slip right off and she stares at them for a second, not quite registering what they are. Then she picks them up,

 

She’s going to be stuck in here for a while. She might as well make the most of it.

 

Half of the first letter’s been completely scratched out, but the date’s from almost a month ago and it’s in far better condition than the other ones in the set. Still, she hesitates. It reeks of alcohol.

* * *

 

_ My dearest _ __   
_   
_ __ My dear

 

_ Darling Daughter of mine _ __   
__   
_ No. I'm not going to start this letter out with a lie.  _ __   
_   
_ __ I’m not sure what you’ve heard about me and I expect it’s either extremely kind or extremely cruel which is funny to me because I think of myself as somewhere in the middle.

 

_ I’m also not sure if you’ve actually been receiving these.  It’s probably a little for the best-  _ __   
_ I check up on you every now and then. I'm probably not supposed to- Fu has made it quite clear that I am not to have anything to do with Paris, but I cannot help myself. Abstinence has never been my strong suit. I would not be surprised if it was not yours as well.  _ __   
_   
_ __ (I am actually almost certain Fu’s intercepting these. If that’s the case, a special fuck you for you, old man. A woman’s allowed to see her own daughter from time to time-right? Even if she doesn’t quite want to talk to her. Even if she’s almost

* * *

__   
__   
This part’s completely illegible. She sees something scratched out and another thing written in but it’s just as bad. She skips it. Takes a shuddering breath.)

* * *

__   
_   
_ __ I’m not going to pretend like I care about you or anything- or at least not in the way your dear daddy wants me to, but you certainly deserve the truth.

 

_ I’m going under the assumption that you’ve either been ignoring my past attempts to contact you or that Fu has in fact been collecting these for some reason or another. _

 

_ You can ignore them if you want. They’re the drunk ramblings of a bitter old woman and it was foolish of me to even think that sending them was a good idea when I’d gone so far to keep you separate from my life, but it hardly matters now. _ __   
_   
_ __ People like you… People like me, we don't get happy endings. We don't deserve the satisfaction of ever afters and true loves. We are the wicked witches, the evil stepmothers, and the dark queens. If by some miracle of chance that you grew up to be a fairly decent human being (which I sincerely doubt given your father’s method of ‘parenting’.) then I suppose-

__   
_ Perhaps that’s my fault. Perhaps I should have given you away. _ __   
_   
_ __ Perhaps I never should have left home.

* * *

 

The light’s flicker again, and then they go out, and everything is pitch black and it hits her how shitty of an idea reading this was.

  
  


She wants to punch something. She wants to do a lot of things actually- wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to nap, but mostly just sort of sits there staring into space.

 

Like…. How dare you? What type of person sends that to their own daughter and expects them to understand?

 

What type of person actually thinks that’s acceptable? 

 

The lights flicker again, and thens turn off completely, until everything is dark except for the purple light streaming in from the window.

 

There’s another scream too. She ignores it. It’s not her problem- she doesn’t deserve a miraculous- and if her mother’s got anything right it’s that she doesn’t deserve happiness either.

 

Chloé crumples her mother’s letter into a ball, and tosses it into the light, because dramatic irony that’s what.

 

_ Punny.  _ She thinks. Chat Noir would be proud of her. Which is a total lie, and it only sends her stomach souring, and she closes her eyes, wishing she was angry again.

 

The screaming stops. There’s silence. Abeille must of done her job then.

 

_ That’s great.  _ She thinks, and- a few seconds later, surprisingly bitterly.  _ I’m glad silver looks good on you. _

 

Silver- shit. Shit shit shit shit.

 

Because it’s all starting to make sense again- the necklace, the jars, the side comments, the texts- all practically screaming in her face, clearer than crystal, than glass, than combs that turn golden. She’d never buy something with cheap metal, never buy jewelry that’s less than superb, only the best for Chloé Bourgeois- right?

 

_ Right? _

 

Because there’s not much she knows about herself now, but the old Chloé- the worse Chloé would never even stand for cheap metals so it has to be actual gold- it has to be. She’s completely and utterly certain.

 

Holy shit. This entire time she’s thought Lila’s the threat- like Lila’s actually cunning enough to think this far ahead- like Lila can do anything more than spread lies and bluff her way in with obnoxious orange lipstick. Like Lila was actually something worth getting worked up about.

 

Lila’s not the one who’s been sitting next to her all year, spreading compliments and doing Chloé’s homework. She’s not the one who’s been carrying her books to class for Chloé, not the one with her combination, not the one who’s been crossing moral lines for Chloé all year, like, it’s suddenly so obvious now it almost hurts.

 

Sabrina’s been toying with her this entire time hasn’t she?

 

Manipulating the strings. Dropping hints. That-Sure-Is-A-Nice-Comb’s and Let-Me-Hold-Your-Books-For-You’s, and toady smiles and victim tears, like okay so Chloé might not have been the best person in the world but clearly Sabrina’s not so good herself.

 

Someone that manipulative does not deserve a miraculous.

 

* * *

 

 

“I need a ride.” Says Chloé and Monsieur Moustache nods.

 

“Where to, Miss Bourgeois?” He asks.

 

She shrugs.

 

“The light? Whatever just step on it.” And a few seconds later, almost forced.”Please.”

 

He nods again. Doesn’t say anything about how the flood of butterflies flocking like storm clouds, doesn’t mention her father, or her safety or anything. Just nods like this is actually valid.

 

(She breathes a sigh of relief.  She hadn’t expected him to actually agree to do it, hadn’t expected him to not question it either. Doesn’t really want to know why.)

 

(There isn’t time for questions anyways.)

 

(She fucked up. She knows this more than anyone.)

 

* * *

  
  
The car screeches to a stop.

  
  
Saying it was pleasant would be a lie- and not a particularly convincing one. The entire time, Chloé had been fidgeting in her seat, and playing around with the bee necklace she’d stuffed in her pocket. Her heart’s pounding way too hard. She’s trying to ignore it the best she can. Trying to ignore the thought of her own death repeating itself in her head.

  
  
“Be safe.” He says, breaking her thoughts, and it occurs to her that he’s known all this time, that maybe he’s one of the few people to actually see her for more than the spoiled heiress she’s feeling like she is. She fights back her tears and wraps her arms around his chair, sort of hugging him.

  
  
(This must be what it feels like to be believed in.)

  
  
(This must be what it feels like to care.)

  
  
“Thank you for supporting me."

  
  
It’s uncharacteristic of her, she knows, or she thinks she knows (the old Chloé would never have gone for this, never even have thought of it in the first place) but it feels right, and she thinks she generally means it. In the mirror she thinks she sees him smile. She might of imagined it. She hopes she didn’t.

 

  
Chloé tears herself away and slams the car door shut before breaking into a run. Behind her she hears the engine start back up again, and hears him drive off. When she turns around- only for a second- he’s already gone.   


  
Good. She thinks. She’s put him in enough danger already. 

  
  
(She hopes he’s able to stay safe.)

  
  
(She hopes her plan doesn’t backfire.)

  
  
(Then again… she’s hoping a lot of things tonight. Doesn’t mean they’ll come true or anything.)

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter got moved around to the next, like it was originally one huge letter and then it wasn't? It's short and honestly the next few are much better (or will be once I start putting things in chronological order.)
> 
> Anyways thank you for being patient, and putting up with my weird updates, it seriously means so much?
> 
> Also Chloe's mother's name is Moira because idk like the Handmaiden's Tale or also it's really pretty.
> 
> Maybe Jemima... need to do name research.


	25. Wake Up

 

* * *

 

_ “Well I don’t know what you’ve been told _

_ But there’s more than one truth: this I know. _

_ I don’t know just what you fear _

_ But take a look in here. _

_ And when the walls of earth rise up around you _

_ Rise to another plane. _

_ And wake up from this horrible dream.” _

_ -Aurelio Voltaire _

_ Wake Up, From the Album “Raised by Bats” _

* * *

__

Sabrina’s flickering like an old movie, back and forth between Abeille gold and Hawkmoth purple, akuma pouring out of her hands and into Paris. Somehow, despite all this, she stays static. It’s unnerving actually, seeing that same unwavering smile, those bulging eyes staring into nothing. 

 

(Chloé’d been completely wrong when she’d suggested that Abeille could ever be holy. There’s nothing angelic about her at all.

 

Demonic perhaps. Disgusting of course- but holy?

 

No. There’s no way anyone this sadistic, this cold, could ever be an angel.)

 

It’s practically impossible to get close to her. The streets are filled with akuma victims- dozens of Cloak-And-Dagger’s and Sleepless Beauties, all just as unnaturally stiff as Sabrina is, following her as she floats over the streets. Like they’re waiting for something. Orders probably. For Sabrina to make up her damn mind most likely.

 

Slowly and sharply Sabrina turns her head, and so do they, a thousand and one faces all staring back at Chloé, blank and disgusting and expectant.

 

(Her stomach lurches and she considers running, but the letters stuffed in her pocket and the necklace wrapped around her hand weigh her down.  _ This is my chance. _ She thinks.  _ I need to fix this _ .)

 

(Still it would be so much easier to let the Lucky Duo deal with this whole mess themselves- not like they wanted her to have a miraculous in the first place.)

 

Chloé takes a deep breath. “Give it back.” She says, her voice surprisingly steady. 

 

Sabrina barely blinks. 

 

“Wow Chloé… kind of a shock to see you here!” She says softly. “Don’t get me wrong though-I’m seriously super duper glad I got to see you again! I didn’t actually think you’d give me your comb but you did and I’m really thankful. ‘Fraid I can’t give it back though. I gotta prove myself.”

 

“Give it back.” Chloé says. A little louder this time. A little more confident.

 

“Why? It suits me.” Says Sabrina, her smile dropping. For a second it looks like she’s about to cry.  (It’s fake- it’s totally fake it has to be- there’s no way she’s serious.)  “You really shouldn’t take back gifts- it’s really rude.”

 

_ This is ridiculous.   _ Thinks Chloé. It strikes her that Sabrina’s just playing with her or biding time or something, that she has to have a plan other than just standing there making small talk. People don’t make armies just for the heck of it.

 

And what does she mean by proving herself? Who is she proving herself for? Hawkmoth? Ladybug? Chat?

 

_ Me? _

 

Except that’s stupid. Especially since Sabrina’s making it all too clear that she wants nothing to do with Chloé.

 

“Fine,” She says, and Sabrina lights up again. “Keep it- do what you want. See if I care. “

 

She takes a deep breath before continuing. This is her one chance. Chloé can’t fuck this up. “Oh- and you can have this back.”She chucks the silver necklace at Sabrina and it doesn’t even come close to hitting her, falling meters away onto the street. An Akuma glances down at it, then, looks up at her and stares with dead eyes. Chloé swallows. She considers dashing forward and trying again, then shoots another look at the crowd of Akuma at Sabrina’s feet.

 

Something’s different. They’re shifting too, their eyes moving, shoulders rolling. Like they’re waking up. 

 

For a second Sabrina’s transformation flickers, and she’s her again, and she almost looks like she’s about to cry, then she shudders and it’s gone, and she’s purple- just purple. Hawkmoth purple and glowing, her expression blank and expressionless and a thousand times worse than before.

 

It twists into a grin a few minutes later,  that same terribly toad like smile that she was wearing earlier, caricature like, parody like. She glances down at the necklace, then at Chloé, her face unwavering.

 

“That’s really not gonna work on me.” Says Sabrina, flickering back to gold. “I suggest you run.”

 

Chloé doesn’t hesitate for a second- which is good because Sabrina barely even gives her three.

* * *

 

_ My childhood was unimpressive, my life was unimpressive and so was my home. I deserved better, I told myself. I deserved adventure. Craved it actually. _

 

_ Straight out of school I got an opportunity to leave, and I took it- no questions asked. The details were irrelevant. It didn’t matter, I told myself. I could figure them out when I had to. I stayed in a handful of cheap hotels on the shadier side of town,lived solely off of espresso, and fell asleep at dawn, my clothes stained with paint.  It was cliché and foolish but at the time it felt romantic and I was determined to make it last. _

 

_ (I’m almost certain, at this point, that you’ve gotten bored. I can assure you that you come in a little later. Be patient. I know that’s foreign for you but the very least you can do is try.) _

* * *

 

 

_ Fuck. Fuck fuckfuckfuckityfuck. _

 

She knows there’s no point in running- that it’s cowardly and worthless and so totally old-Chloé that it makes her want to scream, but she also knows there’s no point in dying either. Sabrina’s terribly unpredictable right now, and whatever grasp she might have had on whatever the fuck her motives might be is gone. Like okay, she gets it- Sabrina’s a total fake. But isn’t everyone?

 

_ You treated her like human garbage. Of course she’s doing this.  _ She thinks and it almost causes her to trip. Almost. She stops herself last second and tries to dive forward instead.

 

She can’t be caught. She needs time to think out a better plan then throw a gold necklace at Sabrina and run. (Death and Dash. Funny.)Still her breath is coming out in shards. She’s not sure how much longer she can do this.

 

_ Yeah but she’s been manipulating me this entire time. I get that I totally deserve this, and that it’s my fault- but why? What does she have to gain by releasing a ton of akuma?  _

 

A knife whizzes by, missing her face by inches, and she stifles a scream. There’s another one, a few seconds later, flying over her head, disturbed close. Someone that accurate doesn’t just lose like that on purpose. It’s like they’re toying with her. Like it’s all some game.

 

A few more knives and a couple objects of miscellaneous origin. Close enough to scare her, but not actually hitting her. Huh. Weird.

 

_ She can't seriously hurt me. _ Thinks Chloé, realization dawning on her.  _ She's still trying to play hero. _

 

That’s a weakness right? She can use that to her advantage and stuff. 

 

she spots an alley and she musters up the energy to run a little bit faster, a little bit further. She fights the burning in her lungs, her legs, her throat. She’s so close. She can make it if she tries.

 

She trips again- only it’s on purpose so it’s okay- and ducks into the alley. It’s suffocatingly tight, and the walls sort of close in on her, 

 

She fights back a burst of panic. She wanted this.She reminds herself. She’s got everything worked out- it’s gonna go great.

 

Who’s she kidding? It’s a stupid plan and she knows it.

 

She was an idiot to think that it would work.

 

She sucks in a breathe, watches the hoards of akuma literally stroll right past her and tries desperately to calm herself down. It feels like there are thousands of them- all pressing forward and malicious, and and terrifying on so many levels.

 

And then she has her chance.

 

Sabrina hovers just barely out of arm's reach and Chloé lunges. Somehow she manages to latch on to Sabrina's legs, dragging her down with her. Its terribly juvenile- she knows- she's certain of it but it doesn't matter. All that does is her miraculous and she's so obviously close already that she's almost crying, certainly smiling.

  
  
“Stop!” Sabrina screams- maybe at the akuma, maybe at her but it's late it's far too late and no one is listening. They lurch forward, Akuma trailing behind them. Sand is swirling. Knives are flying. She tries not to breathe the air.

  
  
Now Sabrina's crying-thick ugly sobs that shake her entire body, her hands clawing at Chloé, desperately trying to steal it back. 

  
  
Chloé lunges for the comb, pushing against Sabrina's arms, and practically ripping tufts of hair out in the process.  There's pain-sharp then sweet as out of the corner of her eye Sabrina stabs one of the darts into Chloé’s arm. She rips it out and throws it to the ground as fast as she can, but it's too late and she's spinning, faster than the speed of light only not at all, dizzy and blurry and drowsy. She lunges for the comb again, her fingers inches, centimetres, miles- whatever away, fighting to stay awake.

  
  
Another dart and she tries to tear it away, but it's too much and she's too late. The ground spins blissfully, and without meaning to, she grins wildly. Everything feels so light, like she's floating. Like she's safe.   
  
Her vision blurs and she doesn't see the point in fighting it.

  
  
There's a flash of red- ladybug probably and also gold and then… Nothing.

* * *

 

_ There’s that promise, the one she kept telling the world over and over again.  _

 

I’ll be better. _ She cries.  _ I’ll be nicer. Kinder- whatever.  Just don’t let me die!

 

_ Ladybug had swept her in her arms and suddenly she was lightheaded, her stomach still diving towards the ground at mach whatever. Woozy and floaty and a little sick in all the best ways. She couldn’t help but wrap her arms tighter. Couldn’t help but want to feel that way again. _

 

_ She had thought about it that night, the after image burned into her eyes, It is completely cheesy- she’d been aware, but whoever it was had rescued her from certain death it must be natural to feel like this, it must be right that they’re friends. Bonding moment. Gal Pals for life. _

 

_ Whoever she is- whatever she is- angel slash superhero slash femme fatale fo it doesn't matter. After all what does?  _

 

_ The idea that ladybug could have hated her from the start does not occur to her until much later. By then she’s already traded in her miraculous and it hardly matters at that point anyways. She hadn’t had the energy for anything other than hating herself- what was one more name to add to the list? _

 

_ It wouldn’t have crossed her mind at that point anyways.  The idea that anyone could hate her had seemed preposterous and unnecessary- especially someone who saved her life. _

  
  
  


_ Whatever could Ladybug have wanted? What did she gain? What reason could Marinette have for saving her literal bully? It would have been so simple for her to just let Chloé drop to her death. Maybe the world would even be a little better off without Chloé in it. Maybe Chloé would be too. Who knows. _

 

_ Even now it’s incomprehensible. _

 

_ That sometimes you save people who hate you. That you continue to save the people you hate- even when they don’t deserve it. _

* * *

 

By the time Chloé opens her eyes again, the streets are swarming with akuma and Sabrina is nowhere to be found. She stands up-or tries to at least, her legs are wobbling beneath her own weight.

 

Looks around. Tries to figure out her surroundings. 

 

She's in a café, a really small one, doesn't quite know where but that's something she can figure out in a second. She's alone as far as she can tell too, which makes sense, after all half of Paris is akumatized right now.

 

She tries the door but it's locked. She's trapped but otherwise safe.

 

Whoever put her here certainly put a lot of effort into making sure she'd be like that.

 

She glances briefly at the pair of darts sticking out of her arm and watches as they dissolve into nothing. 

 

_ Sabrina. _

 

_ Of course. _

 

_ Who else could it be? _

 

She glances at the akuma waiting for her outside, then at the sky. It’s still dark- still practically night but the akuma have thinned out enough that she can see cracks of dusk filtering though.( Maybe dawn. She’s not actually sure how much time she’s lost.)

 

Either way she hopes her phone has enough battery to be used as a flashlight. This isn’t a good time to be running around in the dark.

 

Hopes Lucky Charm accounts for vandalism too.

 

Chloé grabs one of the chairs and smashes it into the window of the cafe- breaking apart a cutesy little graphic of a cup of tea. (Or like… it used to be cute.) Glass sprays everywhere and into her arms a little, but she's otherwise fine. She brushes the glass off of her jacket with her sleeve, thankful she’d had the fashion sense to wear leather, and steps gingerly through the hole she’s made. Makes a quick mental note to apologize to the shop owner for destroying their display.

 

The streets are covered in that sand, sleeping dust, whatever, that the Sleepless Beauties seem to like throwing around. It’s in the air too- shimmering slightly and floating gently down onto Paris but it’s there. She pulls up the collar of her shirt and tries not to inhale it in as much as she can.

 

It’s practically impossible. Sleepless Beauty must like, secret the stuff from their pores or something. She makes another mental note to figure out who the original Sleepless Beauty is, and find out whether or not they were finally able to get a good night’s sleep or something.  Like, it’s a stupid thought and she doubts anything will actually come of it, but the woman’s been akumatized three times already and she doubts that’s a pleasant experience. 

 

(Although Chloé almost wouldn’t mind the chance to become Antibug again. Streets full of Akuma and the possibility of passing out due to magic dust… Sabrina sure isn’t making things easy for her isn’t she? The advantage would be nice.)

 

Sticking to the shadows, and giving up any hope of being able to use her phone as a flashlight, Chloé slinks along the side of the street and tries to figure out where the fuck she is. 

 

She runs a bit, then, once she realizes that the akuma are more preoccupied with patrolling the streets, decides to walk instead.

 

There’s no point in running. They’d be on her in minutes.

* * *

 

_ I was young and travelling abroad, and he was charming and Parisian. _

 

_ I met him on the side of the street, his hair was gelled back, terribly out of fashion but terribly attractive.  He bought a painting from me. He stole my heart. _

 

_ Your father was a much more handsome young man back then. Work has aged him like cheap wine, and pleasure has made him slow minded and dull. But back then, he was quite the stud. _

 

_ You wouldn’t understand anyways. You’ll never get what it’s like to love someone. _

* * *

 

She finds the necklace lying on the ground, covered in a fine layer of sand, the pendant cracked, and its chain snapped in two. She blows the dust off of it- careful not to breath it in- and stuffs it back in her pocket with the letter. She’s not actually sure why, like maybe it was the flicker in Sabrina’s eyes or the fact that it’s the cause of this, or maybe just because. She’s not even sure she really needs a reason to have it either. Still it’s there and she has it, so it has to count for something.

 

And if not, at least she sort of knows where she is now. So maybe finding Sabrina won’t be that bad.

* * *

 

_ Origin stories for formal villains are a little harder to define than heros’ are. We’re hazy. We aren’t quite so clean cut and noble, and promises don’t quite mean as much as they should. _

 

_ Mine starts with a box and a beautiful woman and ends with me losing them both.  _

 

_ Sometimes, years and years and years later, I wonder if Florence ever loved me like she did Gabriel. _

 

_ And then sometimes I remember that she was almost as trapped as I was. _

* * *

 

So it turns out Chloé isn’t the only thing lurking in the shadows.

 

She walks practically face first into a Cloak-And-Dagger, not able to stifle a scream before they press a knife against her skin and drag her out into the open. She tries to squirm free, but their grip is too strong, and they’re not alone and suddenly she’s getting a face full of sand and growing limp in their arms. Her vision blurs. Her arms flail.

  
  


Ladybug swoops out of nowhere and scoops up Chloé in her arms and it almost feels like a dream.

 

She smells like baked goods and cinnamon and peonies. Like okay, Chloé knows she’s actually Marinette and that she hates her guts either way and okay that she hates or used to hate her a little back, but everything is deliriously fuzzy from Sleepless whatever’s dust that she can’t even be expected to know if things are real or not.

 

(What’s that line from Macbeth? Foul is fair and fair is foul? Or is that Hamlet- who knows.)

 

“My miraculous.” She says. Her words are slurring- it’s hard to think let alone talk. “I need to get my miraculous back.”

 

“Not now Chloé.” Says Ladybug.Her voice sounds tired. It occurs to her that Ladybug could probably use a good night's sleep as well.

 

Ladybug sets Chloé down to the side then swings off . She waits a few seconds to check if she’s truly gone before running back in. Sleepless Beauty’s dust might slow down her resources but it didn't stop her from wanting to do everything in her power to get it back. Her miraculous that is. Things back so some semblance of normal that is.

 

She's exhausted. Part of it's the dust but a bigger part of it's from running and leaping and running again, the wave of adrenaline that had pushed her to jump before having abandoned her. She's trying so hard to hold her breathe, to keep going. Black spots dance in her vision and without meaning to she releases her breathe and gasps.

 

The street starts to spin. 

 

_ Now she's spinning herself, round and round like a top or maybe a ballerina- just like she dreamed of when she was younger or maybe a princess because she never could have wanted to be a dancer not when she could be royalty not when she is or maybe she was and- Chloé wake up you’ve fought her before this is ridiculous! _

 

Her eyes pop open. She's swaying back and forth and she collapses onto the street and onto her knees, coughing heavily. All around her sand swirls. 

 

Her throat is burning, and so are her lungs, and she coughs and coughs and coughs until her head is clear and her chest hurts. Then she closes her eyes a little and pinches the bridge of her nose.

 

She needs to focus. She can't just run in blind again, can't just pretend like tackling Sabrina is going to actually work. She has the necklace in her pocket still so that's something.

 

And also maybe Paris is still under siege. So that's also something.

 

_ This is impossible  _ She thinks and opens her eyes, her body no longer shaking from expelling sand.

 

A black butterfly lands in front of her.

 

Her eyes grow wide and she scrambles away. 

 

_ Fuck. _ She thinks.  _ Fuckfuckfuckfuck.  _

 

It floats in front of her and she stares, practically paralyzed now that it's inches away from her face. She stares at it, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, trying not to panic, not to scream.

 

For either a few minutes or a few years, both of them are still.

 

Then the akuma floats off a bit, and stops again. Like it's waiting for her or something.

 

Chloé stands up slowly. Takes a step forward. Watches it float a foot away then stop again. She takes another step and it floats a little forward. Then she just keeps walking.

 

(She knows it’s a stupid idea. She doesn’t care.)

 

It leads her away from the crowds of akuma victims, and into an alley, and then another alley and another, until she’s completely lost and turned around, and staring face to face with a man shrouded in shadows. The akuma lands on his cane and he smiles at her, radiating malevolence.

 

She knows who he is instantly. Wonders if it’s too late to run.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters and a short epilogue eyyyyyy
> 
> Probably. Not making any promises.


	26. What Were You Thinking?

* * *

 

 _It might come of a surprise to you, but there are rules against what I did. These same rules bind you as they bound me, as they bind that idiot bird who’s traipsing around Paris as of late wearing his wife’s suit. I was one of the lucky ones. Retribution came swift._   
  
_The exact details of my banishment are irrelevant. I don’t expect you to understand, don’t expect you to feel anything but relief that this was a thing, that I’m out of your life or whatever. I know I am._

* * *

 

Hawkmoth’s grin widens. He stretches his hand out, like he wants her to shake it, like he expects her to. Fingers beckoning and stuff. Expecting.

 

(There’s something disgustingly graceful with the way he holds himself, regal and refined. Like he’s a king or something. Like he’s more than some old dude in a supervillain suit.)

 

She tenses up and her eyes flash from his mask to his cane, to his silver toed shoes and back to his mask. Tries to figure out who’s under that costume. It’s impossible to tell. Figures.

 

“What do you want?” She asks and tries to sound like she doesn’t care but ends up coming off like she’s completely petrified. Which she is. Petrified that is. Absolutely and wholeheartedly, can’t feel her legs, heart pounding way too fast, petrified.

 

“What do _you_ want?” He says.  Purrs. “Poor Queen Bee, giving up her crown only to have it fire back in her face. “

 

(She squirms a little, and he grins even more. He’s enjoying this way too much, she can tell by the tone of his voice, how condescending it is.)

 

“It’s still not too late. I can get you your title back.”

 

 _This is so stupid._ She thinks. Like she knows better. She knows what happened the last time. (Still, she hesitates, because of course she wants her miraculous back, and of course she wants to be Queen Bee again.)

 

“I’m not letting you akumatize me okay?” She says, trying to keep her voice steady, and failing miserably. Not for the first time tonight, she wishes Zeezle were with her. That maybe she wouldn’t have to face him like this alone.

 

He has this way of rolling his shoulders when he shrugs that makes her skin crawl, and she stumbles back a step, ready to bolt. He holds his hands up- cane and all- like he’s about to surrender or something. It’s disgustingly sardonic.

 

“Aren’t there enough akuma?” He asks, waving his cane in little circles.

 

“You tell me.”

 

“Five minutes.” He says. “But in return I expect secrets- nothing too specific of course, I want to keep things vague.”

He says this last bit with almost a laugh, like it’s a game or something.

 

Still… it’s tempting, and it’s the closest thing to a chance Chloé’s gonna get.

 

Fuck, this is so gonna backfire isn’t it? Marinette’s gonna kill her. Hell, Alya’s gonna kill her.

 

(Not that she wouldn’t mind all that much.)

 

“Fine” She says, grudgingly. “Ladybug wears too much pink and coordinates her lip gloss to her outfits. Also she goes to the same school that I do, but Idk what grade she’s in so don’t bother asking. Is that enough?”

 

It’s only half a lie. She hopes it’s enough to pass.

 

He pauses, and for a split second, she wonders if he’s going back on it, if he’s gonna akumatize her or something. A chill runs down her spine, and her legs go numb, like this was her only chance alright? She’s not sure

 

“I look forward to doing business with you.”  He says, and holds out hand. She stares at his hand, before turning tail and breaking into a run.

 

(She feels so light headed… it’s hard to breathe, like he’s gone and sucked all the air out of the world.)

 

(She’s lucky he didn’t kill her.)

 

(Making devil deals in an ally is super shady- what was she thinking?)

 

“I knew your mother.” Hawkmoth calls out, like that’s supposed to make her trust him or something, and she pauses, midstep. Turns around slowly and stares him dead in the eye.

 

“I’m sorry.” She says.“That must have sucked.”

 

She turns and runs, until the sound of Hawkmoth laughing fades and everything becomes quiet again.

* * *

 

_Catching him detransform had been an accident._

 

_By that time, my dear moth and I’d already exchanged secret identities, were meeting up on the weekends and drinking coffee while you and her son played at our feet._

 

_So finding out that stupid bird was him, the man I’d heard so much about and not all of it good, well, you can imagine my disgust alright? Not all of it was jealousy, not all of it was some desperate ploy of a lonely woman trapped in a house too big with a woman she didn’t quite want._

 

_She needed to see who he was. I hadn’t realized it would fix their marriage._

* * *

 

Hawkmoth keeps true to his promise.

 

She’s running when it happens, the sky suddenly clear  as thousands of butterflies turn whiter than moonlight, as their victims flicker back to their civilian forms.

 

Sabrina pauses, mid-hover, and looks around, almost as if in a trance. Her eyes grow wide. Like they’re full of fear or something.

 

 _Good._ Thinks Chloé. (She can’t really help herself- it just slips out.) _Fear me._

 

She doesn’t know the akumas name. If she had to guess it would be some sort of angel pun, something cheesy, she isn’t quite sure- (it’s ridiculous for her to try and keep track okay?? Like she remembers the Joker knock off, that dentist, Sleepless Beauty because she wouldn’t stay dead, and a handful of others and maybe that’s it.

 

Saving Grace, yes. The fanatic who decided they’d set themselves on fire and freaked out before they could do much damage.

 

Still, six winged, and ablaze, they land down in front of and stick out their hand. The fire extinguishes itself.

 

“Five minutes.” They say, their voice as androgynous as their appearance. “Four now. Better be fast.”

 

She gets it, and nods, before grabbing their hand and allowing them to lift her up.

 

And suddenly they’re flying.

 

It’s disgustingly undignified, and there’s no way it’ll work again, but she throws herself onto Sabrina, hoping that that by some miracle it actually does. She manages to latch herself around her waist.

 

Her weight drags them both down, Sabrina spinning in a desperate attempt not to fall as well as

 

She twists and turns, and tries jamming another one of Chloé’s darts into her arms, but Chloé’s not falling for that again, and kind of wiggles out of the way. She wraps her arms around Sabrina’s waist tighter, and grasps wildly at her hair. She’s trying to be gentle but Sabrina’s making it hard on her.

 

The ground is getting closer and closer, faster and faster. She needs to make this quick.

 

(She’s almost fine if this kills her.)

 

(Almost.)

 

Chloé wiggles her way to Sabrina’s front the best she can, and Sabrina’s wings shoot out again, struggling to steady them. Her hands claw at Chloé’s, trying to tear her off.

 

Light breaks through the second she tears her miraculous free. Sabrina’s detransformation light maybe, or whatever akuma’s decided to linger leaving or something, she isn’t too sure, and honestly does not care, like they have bigger problems now. More immediate problems.

 

Like that they’re falling. Actually falling, the ground suddenly much too close, much too soon, but there’s a flash of black, and one of the Cloak-and-Daggers has scooped them up in their arms. Sets them down softly. (Chloé had never thought the day would come when she’d be thanking Hawkmoth but he’s gone and saved her life in more ways than one tonight so she supposes she has to.)

 

Sabrina’s transformation falls apart as well. She's shaking, practically bawling too and clawing at Chloé’s legs. Snot drips down her face. It's disgusting.

 

“You can’t do this!” She screeches between sobs. “You gave it to me! It was a gift!”

 

Chloé stares at her for a second, trying to catch her breath. Then she pulls out all the stray red hairs from _her_ comb, (How good it feels to actually be able to say that outloud!) and twists it into her hair. Her pocket grows heavy, and she realizes it’s Zeezle, and smiles softly. She’s forgotten how nice it feels to have Zeezle press against her like that. How comforting it is.

 

She kneels close to Sabrina. Pulls her into a hug and pins her arms down to keep her from attacking her.

 

Sabrina goes limp in her arms. Kind of snuggles into it. (A part of her wonders if Sabrina is almost as desperate for human contact as Chloé is. It’s amazing that this is what they have in common.)

 

“I hate you.” Sabrina whispers, her voice hoarse. She wrestles and tries to rip Chloé’s comb from her, but Chloé grabs Sabrina’s wrist and twists it a little. Not enough to actually hurt her- just enough to stop her trying again.

 

_Yeah well me too. Join the club._

 

“I’m sorry.” She says, and actually sort of means it. “I deserve that.”

 

“I had everything under control- why didn’t you let me have this? Why’d you- why;d you have to take it away?”

 

She’s wailing again, and beating Chloé’s legs with her fists like some sort of little child, and shaking, until her words are barely comprehensible.

 

Chloé looks down at her again, and tries to think of something to say back but she can’t think of anything. She tries to smile, tries to think of a way to gloat, or rub it in Sabrina’s face, but all she feels is numb,

 

Like, Sabrina’s making it really hard to feel good about getting her miraculous.

 

Like, at the very least she should feel relieved or something.

 

This has been a long night. She thinks she’d rather just go home and sleep for a year or five.

 

She sighs, once again, and closes her eyes for a second.

 

“You need a ride home or something?” She asks. “I can call my driver if you want.”

 

Sabrina brushes a strand of hair out of her face, and tucks it behind her ear. She starts to stand-without Chloé’s help because apparently she’s still not ready to let bygones be bygones or whatever quite yet. Understandable. She supposes, although it would be easier if Sabrina would just take her damn hand and-

 

Fuck.

 

No. He couldn’t. They made a deal- she told him secrets- he said he’d give her five minutes- he wasn’t supposed to-

 

The sky grows black again, darkness covering them both like a death shroud. Only this time, no one’s screaming, not even her not even Sabrina, dead silent. Corpse silent.

 

.Who knows who cares, why does it even matter, this night’s gone on far too long as it is, why can’t he just let her have a day off? What kind of opportunistic, sick bastard decides he’s gonna lay siege on Paris before they’ve even started to recover?

 

She should have figured he’d pull something like this.…

* * *

 

_I didn’t bother taking anything with me. I wanted to leave Paris the same way I’d arrived, wanted a fresh start._

 

_God, I just wanted to forget._

* * *

 

It’s sort of funny how things stay the same.

 

Chloé doesn’t hesitate, or actually she kind of does, but she snaps out of it a second later, and hoists Sabrina back onto her feet. It’s a little too rough- she needs to be more careful- good guys aren’t supposed to hurt the people they’re trying to save- and Sabrina winces, and lets out a soft whimper, but she doesn’t fight it.

 

As much as Sabrina’s hating Chloé right now, she doesn’t hate her enough to die out of spite. So that’s something.

 

She doesn’t even fight it when Chloé starts dragging her by the arm through Paris.

 

They’re both tired, they’re both clearly exhausted, and panting, but the streets are filled with reactivated akuma victims, and- deal with Hawkmoth or not- she’s not willing to find out what happens when they catch them both. Somehow, they manage to duck into what’s left of a storefront, and crawl beneath a rack of clothes. Chloé’s heart is pounding way too hard in her chest, and she tenses up, hoping desperately that they can’t hear her pulse. Next to her, Sabrina’s squeezed her eyes shut,her body rocking with every snotty sob.

 

A part of her wishes that Sabrina would just learn how to cry quietly or something, Another part of her thinks she should just let Sabrina get caught, that it’s all her fault anyways why not just let her take the fall.

 

Instead Chloé just sits a little closer to Sabrina, until their shoulders are touching, and awkwardly pats her hair. Like before, Sabrina kind of wiggles in. Her bravo from before is gone.

 

 _I took everything from her._ Chloé thinks, and the guilt in her stomach coils tighter.

 

“It’s alright.” Chloé says. “There’s no point in being afraid, jeez Sabrina.”

 

Says the girl who’s just one loud bang away from breaking into sobs herself.

 

She continues combing Sabrina’s hair with her fingers until Sabrina stops shaking, and her crying eases into soft sniffles. Then, careful not to disturb her, she crawls out of their hiding place, and stands up warily.

 

She peels her jacket off too- like there’s really no way of keeping it when it’s covered in stray red hairs and tears and stuff- and places it around Sabrina’s shoulders like a blanket. There’s really no point in keeping the necklace anymore but she stuffs that in the pocket of her pants anyways. She holds on to the letters, not entirely sure if she should burn them or throw them out or what, Maybe she’ll keep them or something. Maybe she’ll give them back to Fu or something,

 

Sabrina’s staring at her. Her eyes are wide with something- like maybe it’s amazement or hope or that disgusting sycophantic faithfulness she hid behind for years, or maybe it’s hate, not like she can tell the difference anymore- and Chloé finds her face starting to turn red.

 

“What.” She says, and tries to frown. “Stop giving me that look.”

 

Sabrina looks away quickly. “Nothing Chloé!” She squeaks, and at that point Chloé’s certain she’s lying. “It’s nothing I swear!”

 

Chloé wonders if it’s fear. Then she wonders why- literally surrounded by akuma- Sabrina’s scared of her.

 

It should be ridiculous but actually it’s terrifying.

 

“I’m not gonna hurt you or anything…” She mutters, then blows a stray hair out of her face. “Look just stay here okay? I’m gonna go fix things. Probably not going to back anytime soon.” She moves around the clothes on the rack until Sabrina’s completely hidden, and takes a deep breath. Wills herself to calm down.

 

“You can keep the jacket by the way. “ She says, one step out what’s left of the door. It’s just loud enough for Sabrina to hear it. “Hope you aren’t allergic.”

* * *

 

_Catching him detransform had been an accident._

 

_By that time, my dear moth and I’d already exchanged secret identities, were meeting up on the weekends and drinking coffee while you and her son played at our feet._

 

_So finding out that stupid bird was him, the man I’d heard so much about and not all of it good, well, you can imagine my disgust alright? Not all of it was jealousy, not all of it was some desperate ploy of a lonely woman trapped in a house too big with a woman she didn’t quite want._

 

_She needed to see who he was. I hadn’t realized it would fix their marriage._

* * *

 

Heroes aren’t supposed to worry about their feet, but she’s been running around all night, and she’s finally got her miraculous so she’s not as preoccupied and okay so maybe Paris is _still_ under seige or whatever, but it’s Hawkmoth and they had a deal, so it’s not not like it’s a big deal or whatever. Like she can fix this. She can’t fix the blisters forming on her heels.

 

She wishes she’d brought sensible shoes. Wishes she owned sensible shoes.

 

Chloé tells this to Zeezle, but Zeezle’s gone and fallen asleep in Chloé’s pant pocket. She can hear her soft snores in between Chloé’s pants and it’s more than a little calming. If she weren’t running for her life, if she weren’t trying desperately to avoid the akuma patrolling the streets, if she were at home and safe and her life wasn’t at risk, she’d close her eye for a bit and maybe take a nap.

 

Jeez now she’s wishing she can do that too.

 

Hawkmoth is strangely methodical about his methods. Akuma patrol the streets, akuma break into shops, akuma jumping out of alleys. She’s already almost walked into a (flock? Posse? battalion?) of them twice already and it nearly gave her a premature heart attack. Super inconvenient. She tells Zeezle, who isn’t particularly paying much attention but snuggles deeper into her pocket so that must have counted as something.

 

(Her heart's still racing, and she’s trying not to cry a little.)

 

(That was too close. She needs to be more careful- she needs to take this more seriously.)

 

There’s an abandoned vendor's cart- like there’s a lot of them, just toppled over and spilling out onto the streets- but this one’s different, this one’s important,

 

This one’s also teeming with akuma.

 

Goddamit. Go figure or whatever. Luck and stuff.

 

She ducks inside an alley, and behind a dumpster, trying not to cringe at the scent, then pulls out Zeezle as gently as possible. Shakes her awake carefully.

Zeezle blinks, blearily eyes but still stern as ever. (This is surprisingly also calming. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t missed this, All of this.)

 

Still she’s silent, and Chloé thinks maybe she’s giving her the silent treatment or something.

 

(Thinks maybe Sabrina could have hurt her somehow. That maybe she’s been traumatized.)

 

Chloé closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. Then opens them a few seconds later.

 

“Look.” She says, as loud as she thinks she’ll be able to get away with. “ I know I’ve done some really shitty things like- always,  but I need to fix this, and I need to transform for that.”

 

There’s silence again and Chloé winces, wondering if it was enough, if it was too much, but then Zeezle nods, and gives a slow look at the vendars cart filled with salty, salty goodness. She’s probably starving. It’s gotta be tempting.

 

“It’s not ideal…” She says, and Chloé almost screams from joy. “But it'll do. Give me time.”

 

She shoots Zeezle a smile, and whispers thank you. Watches her make a beeline towards food before running out herself, full force.

(She hopes Sabrina treated her well….. Hopes she doesn’t like Sabrina more than Chloé.)

 

“Hey!”

 

The akuma freeze in their tracks, and turn towards her slowly. Still there’s silence, and she swallows back a wave of panic, and says it again a little louder a little more confident.

 

“We had a deal Hawkmoth.” She says, and something laughs. Someone.

 

It’s like Stoneheart all over again, akuma flocking together and forming a face, grinning ghoulishly, eyes like gaping holes that glare down, condescending and eerie, and honestly? Melodramatic.

 

It’s significantly less impressive this time around. She’s seen the man behind the curtain. It’s not like some fancy theatrics are gonna scare her shitless again.

 

(The akumas themselves however… she suppresses a shudder.)

 

Still she can’t help but be a little insulted. She’d thought they’d reached a point in their relationship where they could talk things out face to face or something. He’d known her mom after all. Probably fought side by side, against evil or good or something.  Doesn’t this make him like, some kind of surrogate uncle once removed, or that melodramatic cousin that starts shit at every family meeting? (She’s never actually gone to a reunion, never really interacted with anyone but her father, but she’s certain that’s how extended family works.)

 

She feels Zeezle crawl back into her pocket, and she grins slowly. “Then you leave me no choice.” She says softly. And then...

 

“Transform me!” She screams, and suddenly everything is warm again.

 

There’s golden light, bright and familiar and surging over her body, a thousand and one hexagons, her hair pulling up into something other than a huge rat's nest, her arms outstretched like a target, like a god preparing for ascension, like someone a thousand times better than Chloé Bourgeois.

 

(But it’s her! But it’s you! But Queen Bee and Chloé are one and the same, that Chloé can be every bit of a hero that Queen Bee is, that Queen Bee’s got every one of Chloé’s faults and then some.)

 

She’s grinning wildly, can’t help it, can’t fight it.

 

(She’s forgotten how much she missed this, how much she still misses this. She’s a sucker for power and she knows it.)

 

And then it hits her. Literally.

 

It’s blunt. She knows that, she can feel that, can feel the impact ripple across her body in slow motion. She’s got part of her suit covering her, and it protects her from the blade itself, but the force knocks her back, and her transformation is ripped off of her in seconds. She gasps for air, her eyes bulging with fear or maybe panic, or maybe something else much much worse, who knows it’s happening much too fast much too painfully, and she stumbles off of the cart, and onto her knees, and oh fuck is she bleeding? Is she crying too? She thinks so, she might be yeah that feels about right, and there’s nothing pretty about it at all. She can feel the snot start to drip down her face, and also she’s shaking, and also she might be surrounded.

 

Fuck.

 

Her miraculous has been knocked practically out of her hair, and her hands shoot up to anchor it.

 

She starts to stand, her legs wobbly and weak, her resolve gone, then drops back down again.

 

They close in on her faster then she thought they would, until the sky’s completely blocked out and she screams. Their hands reach for her, and her miraculous, grasping and grabbing, and she curls up even tighter and covers her hair with her arms. Her chest is hurting like crazy, and she

squeezes her eyes shut. Without meaning to she cries out again.  It’s practically instinct at this point- she can’t help it.

 

(Detransformation hurts like a bitch. She’s barely got the energy to fight back, barely can keep her head up. Is this the end? All this and what? Nothing.)

 

Dust is swirling, hands are clawing, the world is spinning. Faster and faster and faster.

 

Suddenly there’s light. It’s white and practically blinding, and there’s a flash of red and- a hand? A different hand, a red hand that’s outstretched and welcoming, and not clawing away at her arms, trying to rip away at her miraculous. She looks up, and without thinking, grabs onto it and pulls herself to her feet. It pulls her close to it’s chest- Ladybug’s chest- hands wrapped around her waist like a bad romance cover, dangerously and fantastically close. Like if it wasn’t Marinette, and if she wasn’t terrified right now it would feel great.

 

Still, she finds herself smiling a little. Laughing a little.

 

With a flick of Ladybug’s wrist, they swing into the air, flying straight through Hawkmoth’s face full of butterflies, and sending them scattering.

 

It’s surprisingly satisfying to watch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up updating a little later than I was going for originally, because the first draft of flashbacks for this chapter ended up painting Moira as a lot more possessive towards Florence as I was originally going for? It felt like I was building into negative stereotypes, and it seriously squicked me out.
> 
> Look, Chloe's mother is bad (? problematic?) because she neglects her daughter. She's not bad because she's attracted to women, (I headcanon her as demisexual actually haha) and honestly the idea that I could imply this with what I was writing made me a little sick to my stomach. I've tried to fix it a little, and hopefully make her a bit more sympathetic, but if I have any readers that I have offended, I'm very sorry and I hope to be able to write some good representation in the future. (And possibly into what's left of this mess of a fic if it fits in a healthy way.)
> 
> I'm probably over thinking things or something, I just really really want to paint Moira as a fairly grey figure, and didn't want parts of her that are unrelated to her morality adhering to negative (and possibly homophobic) stereotypes. IDK.


	27. Clusterfuck

  
_“I remember when we were gambling to win_   
_Everybody else said better luck next time_   
_I don't wanna bend, Let the bad girls bend_   
_I just wanna be your friend_   
_Is it ever gonna be enough?”_   
_-Gold Gun Girls by Metric_

* * *

  
“Where are we going?” Asks Chloé, once it’s suddenly apparent that no, she did not die and no, she’s not just being plopped down somewhere random to fend for herself. “Is there like, a safe space or are you taking me home or what-, cause like, I wouldn’t mind going home but also I can totally help just tell me what-”

“I don’t have time for this Chloé.” Ladybug says- no interrupts like it’s really just some burden to listen to what she has to do,. Kind of one handedly gestures at all of Paris. Or really… what’s left of it? S’not exactly living up to it’s city of love reputation right now what with the smoke, and crumbling buildings and the akuma blocking out the sun.

She looks exhausted- Ladybug, not Chloé, although Chloé’s most certainly feeling the effects of tonight- what little she can see of her face through the mask is drawn out and pale and her words are slurring just a little. Like she’d clearly been tired before, but it’s a thousand times worse, because this whole fucking experience has that effect on things.

“I know okay, but I left Sabrina in a boutique somewhere and we should probably go back for her, like eventually or something? Also I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m sort of Queen Bee. So you can put me down now if you want.” Not that it’s not really nice holding on to you swinging through Paris, but I’m totally capable of flying back into battle myself so...

(She’s babbling, She know's she’s babbling but she's nervous and a little excited and she’s been waiting for this for forever? Like maybe not the whole being swept into the air thing - which is sort of a plus, and maybe not the whole Hawkmoth thing, but the miraculous yes and maybe she can fix it okay if Ladybug will listen and just let her apologize and maybe talk things out a little? Whatever it doesn’t matter. )

“Wait what?” Ladybug says, and they both jerk to the side as she tries to avoid smacking them both into a sudden wall.

“I left Sabrina in a boutique somewhere?” Says Chloé, because if there was one thing Queen Bee was definitely not (aside from being anything close to a hero) was subtle.

“No- no I got that.” Ladybug says, and drops Chloé unceremoniously down in front of the Collège. Her nose is wrinkling in confusion. Maybe disgust. Actually- scratch that it is disgust. Like the idea of Queen Bee and Chloé being the same person is the worst thing in the world.

Way to spare your true feelings, Marinette. Chloé thinks, a little bitterly, but she can’t quite blame Ladybug all that much. She sort of hates Chloé too. Like more like a lot. Like more like a lot a lot.

“What- that I’m Queen Bee?” Chloé says. (Her heart is pounding- disgust curling in her stomach… something in the way Ladybug’s looking at her, the things she seems to be implying…) She’s trying to regain some of the confidence she’s gotten back earlier, but it’s not working, it’s not helping- she can’t bluster her way through this and act like there’s something different about her.

_(People like me don’t change.)_

_(Villains don’t get happy endings.)_

Ladybug steps back a bit, her face contorting from confusion to disgust, and maybe a bit of horror, but it’s certainly not positive and it’s certainly not helping things and oh- fuck what was Chloé even thinking? She should never have said anything, never have thought that Ladybug would take it well at all.

  
There are a thousand emotions flashing in Ladybug’s eyes- anger and resentment and fear, things with names and without, and she gets it- she really does. If their roles were swapped, she’s pretty sure that she’d feel the same things that Ladybug’s feeling.

  
“You shot Chat. You shot him. On purpose- you bullied me for years- You made my life hell, akumatized half the class…..” Says Ladybug, only it’s Marinette speaking- completely and wholeheartedly.

Chloé’s face burns, and she shifts her gaze. She knows this, she regrets it completely, she swears it alright so stop bringing it up!

(This is humiliating. She hates this, hates having to stoop so low, hates that her thoughts are this awful, that she can’t just snap her fingers and be done with it all.)

“I know though? Like I realize this alright- I know it was wrong and I’m sorry but we don’t have time for this? ”

(It’s an apology. She’s not supposed to like it. It’s not about you, stop making it!)

Ladybug mutters something about Fu and sanctuary and protection and also something about choices- but whatever it is, it’s not nice at all. She seems lost in thought for a second- absolutely furious, like too angry to speak, and it breaks Chloé’s heart more than a little.

_(Why are you surprised- you knew this was going to happen going in.)_

_(Stop being the literal worse and just let Ladybug talk.)_

Then Ladybug looks at her- like really looks at her, and Chloé kind of slinks back towards the door because there’s something so raw about the way Marinette’s doing it.

“You’re right.” She says, softly at first. “I don’t have time for this.”

No….

No that’s not- that’s not what she meant- Ladybug can’t- she can’t actually be serious like Chloé knows she said that and that she had a point but this is not how this was supposed to go at all and-

Fuck. This is Antibug all over again- only a million times worse.

She's not even in the right, here.

She deserves this!

Ladybug leaves, swings off and Chloé’s alone and everything is quiet.

She sits down on the front steps. Ignores the smell of smoke filling the air, the akuma victims, the chaos, just sits there with her head in her hands and trying not to cry. (Swallowing and swallowing all the negative thoughts until there’s nothing left, and her throat’s burning and her head’s hurting and the world’s spinning.)

There is a crisis literally going on. She can’t afford to make this about her.

A few minutes later when she’s regained something close to self control, she stands up and walks inside. Makes her way to Mme Bustier’s. She could use the familiarity right now, and maybe a few minutes of safety while she figures out some sort of plan would be good for her.

Focus on the basics. Yeah. She can do that.

* * *

 

The halls are empty but Mme Bustier’s room isn’t.

Chloé doesn’t say anything as she slips inside, just finds a corner and sits down.

She winces as she takes off her shoes, the blisters that now line her soles and heels protesting. She tries not to look directly at them, the clear liquid oozing out, the blood, bits of skin. Using the desk as support, she stands up again and limps over to Mme Bustier’s desk, trying not to bleed all over the floor. She grabs a handful of tissues before plopping down in Bustier’s chair, and tries not to cringe from the pain as she blots away at her feet. She needs proper bandages, a ton of neosporin too, and she really really would not say no to some painkillers, but she's not gonna get that is she so she's gotta suck it up. She's already tearing up a little. She can't be weaker than she already is.

_(All of this is your fault. You shouldn’t be so emotionally manipulative.)_

_(You can’t fix this. You can try but it won’t work.)_

Alya’s watching her every move, her arms crossed, her feet tapping. She’s absolutely silent, her face completely unreadable- but it’s not quite negative and it’s not quite positive so that’s something.

Chloé thinks about giving a little wave, but stops. Alya has never once wanted anything to do with Chloé. She's not gonna start now.

She takes in a shuddering breath, and turns away quickly, focusing on her feet, on her fellow classmates, on anything else instead. Not Alya, not Alya. (Just looking at her makes her her chest ache, makes her stomach turn with guilt. )

(All her fault, all her fault.)

Lila won't make eye contact. She’s leaning against Nathanael, her head touching his, staring intently at her phone. (He's terribly stiff- she swears he's been sketching that same line that he was when she walked in.) Rose is playing with Juleka’s hair, Mylène’s in a corner trying not to cry. There's Nino too, and Max, and Alix who’s pacing impatiently-or maybe she's worried, it's hard to tell with her.

  
She looks around for Adrien but he's nowhere to be found. Figures. His father probably has him on lockdown.

She hopes he's safe.

Eventually, Sabrina stumbles in, shaking and sobbing, Marinette not far behind. Chloé starts to stand, their eyes meeting, but something in Marinette’s makes her stop and she sits back down.

_Not now Chloé. We'll deal with this later, Chloé. I don’t have time for your bullshit, Chloé._

And a part of it infuriates her. Because she's trying, she's trying so damn hard to fix everything. Because it's been a long night, and she's exhausted, and she's in pain, and it’s all too much but it can't be, because she’s trying to fix things.

She’s trying so hard to get where Marinette’s going for, like she wouldn’t trust her either, but she’s gonna have to if they are going to get out of here in one piece. Like she doesn’t deserve forgiveness, she doesn’t deserve happiness, she knows that.   
She just needs to try harder.

Ladybug had said something about Fu protecting them, providing sanctuary- whatever it doesn’t matter, he’s here right? And he’s got to know something. Like she’ll take anything at this point, can’t just sit there doing nothing. (Not when it’s all her fault, not when it’s her responsibility to fix things to fix this.)

She hasn’t heard a word from Zeezle either.

The thought makes her blood run cold, because as miserable as Chloé is, Zeezle’s gotta be a thousand times worse, and it’s her fault- what if it’s serious? What if she needs medical attention and Chloé’s been preoccupied with what? A couple of blisters? Alya not giving her the time of day? Ridiculous. Selfish and absolutely ridiculous.

She’s deplorable.

She doesn’t bother to tell Marinette what she’s doing- (if Ladybug wanted to do more than rescue citizens and ignore Chloé’s feeble attempts at communication, she can, like that’s her business)- just runs out, barefoot and balancing on the tips of her toes the best she can.

* * *

 

The halls are pretty much empty, and so are most of the rooms but she checks anyways, just making sure. What’s left of families, people shaking, people crying, people just being bored. Tries not to focus on their faces, just a quick glimpse to make sure he isn’t there.

(Their eyes seem to follow her, like they know it’s all her fault that they’re in this mess. It makes her stomach ache from guilt. She knows. She’s trying. She gets it’s not enough.)

She finds him- at last- in M Damocles’s office, simultaneously the last and the first place she could have thought to searched. It’s terribly obvious. She’d chose M Damocles’s office as a base of operations if she absolutely had to as well, like it’s a place of authority and all that. Probably got all sorts of useful surprises hidden in those desk drawers.

She pokes her head inside, then leans back and knocks just in case because she’s probably the last person he wants to see like, ever.

“Come in.” Fu says, and she does, walks in like she’s got some sort of Queen Bee in her because appearances are everything.

_(It’s a trap- he hates you, they all hate you.)_

“Why are you really here?” He asks. His voice is soft. Calming.

He’s holding a box- only it’s got 8 sides so is it more of a container- and he’s clearly exhausted but other than that he’s the same as the last time she saw him. And even then, he had that box before, and everyone’s tired, so really he actually is the same. (That’s irrelevant. Get on with it.)

“Everything is shit.” She says. “I want to know how I'm supposed to fix it.”

(Her voice is cracking. She's trying so fucking hard to keep it together, why can't anyone see- why hasn't it clicked in yet! She's sorry. She's sorry. She's sorry. She knows. She knows. She knows.)

“Go on.” Fu says, and it's the first time anyone has actually wanted to listen to her talk?

She can’t help it- she’s starting to cry, and now actually she's sobbing, and he’s staring at her only it’s not condescending it’s something else she can’t quite put her finger on, like it’s not a bad thing or anything it just is.

And then it all comes spilling out.

“It’s all my fault okay? LIke I caused this, I’m the one who decided to hoard akuma butterflies, I’m the one who made such a big deal about having a miraculous than gave it up, I’m the reason Paris is like this- and there’s nothing I can do about it alright? And I’m trying- I’m actually trying to make a difference and fix this, and- and reverse it? But everything I do just makes things worse, and it’s building up and up and i don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing- how do I fix this?”

“Like I’m the worst person to have a miraculous, and I know it’s my responsibility and all but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be happy or pampered or have power or or whatever okay?

“This whole thing is one big clusterfuck- and and Zeezles’s hurt and Paris is like, on fire or something? Like why am I like this? It's all my fault and I'm making things worse, and and I’m abusive- I’m -I’m toxic.”

“Please just tell me what I’m doing wrong. I need your help- I can’t do this by myself.”

She shouldn’t be doing this. She came here to fix things, not to, not to cry- why’s she telling him her life’s story or something? It's n

She can’t stop Hawkmoth like this.

“You're all too young.” Fu says, when she’s finally quiet. He stands up with a slight groan, and walks over to her. Puts a hand on her shoulder. It's so simple- not even a full hug, but his eyes are so kind and wise, and everything is just so awful, that it's the best thing in the world. “My predecessors and I have gotten into the habit of forcing children to fight our battles for us. You're all growing up too fast. You're allowed to learn from your mistakes.”

She blinks some of her tears away and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Like she wants to deny it, wants to say that people like her don't deserve happy endings or forgiveness, that all they do is make things worse and no matter what she does it won't change that she's garbage, but she can't.

Like, they just won't come out.

“Sleep.” He says, and without thinking, she slumps down, her eyelids dropping, her shudders stopping. “You shouldn't- no. “ (there's a slight sigh. A pause.) “You can’t fix this alone.”

Her last thought before everything goes dark is that maybe he's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a second half to this, I just wanted to prove that this isn't dead.
> 
> Sorry it took me a year and a half to write! This whole fic sort of, accidentally became a little personal so I really do want to give it a good ending. 
> 
> I hope this is enough to tide you guys over until I've got the final part completely finished.

**Author's Note:**

> The first time in ages I actually write and it's Chloé Bourgeois trash.


End file.
